
•K 'Sj 


























































♦ 


RED CAPS AND LILIES 



At The Old Green Mill-Inn 



































































Red Caps and Lilies 


By KATHARINE ADAMS 

ii 


Illustrated by 
JAY VAN EVEREN 


J^eto Pork 

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 
1924 

All rights reserved 


Copyright, 1924, 

By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 



Set up and electrotyped. 
Published April, 1924. 


* • 


Printed in the United States of America by 

THE FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY, NEW YORK. 

APR 24 ’24 

©C1A792089 v. 





















FOR ROSE FILLMORE 





CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. In the Schoolroom. 1 

II. Marie Josephine’s Secret.11 

III. The Bal MasquIs.22 

IV. Jean.39 

V. Inside the Coach.52 

VI. August Tenth, 1792 . 64 

VII. At Les Vignes.79 

VIII. Humphrey Trail.101 

IX. Dian.113 

X. In the Snowstorm.124 

XI. “Tha Must Not Cry Out, Lass’*. . . . 137 

XII. Dian Makes a Friend.148 

XIII. Pigeon Valley Again.159 

XIV. What Lisle Put in the Cake.173 

XV. “She Is Like Our Little Mademoiselle”. 193 

XVI. Marie Josephine Is Ready.201 

XVII. At The Old Green Mill-Inn.217 

XVIII. Vivi Sees the Other Side of the Gates . 232 

XIX. In the Bakery Shop and Out of It . . 245 

XX. Lisle Seeks Adventure.256 

XXI. In the Hidden Cellar.268 

XXII. Champar to the Rescue.288 

XXIII. In Great-aunt Hortense’s House . . . 302 

XXIV. Through The Gates .318 

XXV. Out of the Mist.339 

vii 






































I 


\ 











ILLUSTRATIONS 

At the Old Green Mill-Inn. Frontispiece 

Facing Page 

Marie Josephine. 2 

Flambeau .16 

Lisle .28 

Jean. 40 

Le Pont.62 

Humphrey Trail. 74 

Cecile.'.82 

Bertran.98 

Pince Nez.118 

Grigge .126 

Dian .150 

Vi vi.194 

ix 















RED CAPS AND LILIES 












Chapter I 


IN THE SCHOOLROOM 
“Flambeau!” 

The sound was illusive. Flambeau listened with 
every bit of him, his taut, strong body alert with 
eagerness. The call might have come from the 
landing outside the small salon of Madame la Com- 
tesse, but it had sounded higher up; the schoolroom, 
perhaps, or the nurseries beyond. Flambeau gained 
the top of a high staircase with a few leaping bounds, 
ran down a corridor, turned a corner, and almost 
knocked down his own Marie Josephine, who had 
been calling him. He leaped upon her in welcome. 

“I’ve been out on the balcony, Flambeau. I called 
you from there, for I thought you might be in the 
garden.” 

A voice from a half-open door near them called 
sharply, “Marie Josephine, come in and close the 
door.” 

Marie Josephine walked slowly toward a flicker 
of light reflected on the wall opposite the school¬ 
room door, and went inside, closing the door after 
her. Flambeau had come in with her and he walked 
somewhat disdainfully toward a table which was 
drawn close to a dancing fire in a deep, old-fash- 
1 


2 


Red Caps and Lilies 

ioned fireplace. The table was covered with bits of 
brocade, satin, and gold lace. Two girls sat one 
on each side of it, and a short, fat maid sat cross- 
legged on a stool at their feet, bending over a piece 
of sewing in her lap. When Marie Josephine and 
the dog came into the room, the maid stood up and 
made a curtsy. 

“Will you sit in your favorite big chair by the 
fire, Little Mademoiselle?’’ she asked. 

Marie Josephine shook her head for reply, watch¬ 
ing the swift darting of the maid’s needle as she sat 
down again and went on with her work. Then she 
glanced at her cousin Hortense, who held a piece of 
ermine up before her. 

“It will do for the edging of the mantle, will it 
not, Prote?” Hortense asked the maid. Without 
waiting for an answer, she went on speaking. “I 
hoped that Tante would allow us to sew the ruby 
in the crown, but she would not consent!” As she 
spoke, Hortense looked at Denise, Marie Jose¬ 
phine’s sister, who sat opposite her. 

Denise tossed her red-brown curls out of her eyes 
and pouted. The pout made her look younger than 
her fourteen and a half years. 

“You’ve made this one crookedly. You must do 
another one at once, Prote,” she said, handing the 
maid a small black object. 

“Yes, Mademoiselle,” Prote answered. 

“Fasten this cord, please, Prote. It does not 
seem to be right the way I have done it!” Hortense 



Marie Josephine 



























In the Schoolroom 


3 


held out another black object to the little maid, who 
took it smilingly, with a little bow which made her 
black hair, gathered into a huge knob at the back 
of her neck, stand out like a big black bun. 

Marie Josephine still stood by the fire, Flambeau 
beside her. She looked at her brother as he spoke. 

“Prote cannot do everything at once,” he said. 
He sat in the deep shadow of the window seat at 
the far end of the room, his hands clasped about 
his knees. 

Denise smiled at him over her shoulder as she 
answered: “You know nothing about these things, 
Lisle. You have nothing to do about them, but sit 
and look on. All that concerns you regarding them 
is that you are to wear the robe and crown at the 
De Soignes’ ball!” 

“Ball! You speak as though you were going to 
a ball. You are only two years older than Rosanne 
and I. There is no reason why we should not have 
been invited. I should think they would be ashamed 
to leave Rosanne out of it all!” exclaimed Marie 
Josephine. 

“Little Mademoiselle would like, perhaps, to 
make a bow for her hair? A rosette of this rose 
brocade and a bit of the gold tinsel would become 
her,” suggested Prote, tying a neat knot in a corner 
of the piece of black cardboard which Hortense had 
handed her. 

Marie Josephine shook her head. “No, Prote,” 
she answered. 


4 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Flambeau came up to Denise and nosed at the bits 
of ribbon in her lap. Denise gave his head a pat. 

“Would you not like Flambeau to have a big rose 
bow? Greyhounds always look better with bows,” 
she said. 

Marie Josephine shook her head listlessly, but 
did not speak. A big rose bow would be charming 
for Flambeau, a puffy one under his right ear. She 
was not invited to the De Soigne party, therefore 
she would not appear to be interested in any of the 
glittering array on the table. She caught her broth¬ 
er’s eyes. His head was thrown back against the 
dark, carved-oak window settle. He was looking 
straight at Marie Josephine, and she saw that he 
was smiling. She frowned at him with her straight 
black brows, and he frowned back with his straight 
fair ones. Marie Josephine’s frown was in earnest, 
but her brother’s was in fun. 

“What a thundercloud! What a dragon! What 
an ogress! What a-” 

Marie Josephine stopped her brother’s words with 
a stamp of her foot. “You are not to say that, 
Lisle!” she exclaimed passionately. 

“Don’t tease her, my cousin. How can you do 
it?” reproved Hortense, rising as she spoke and 
going over to the fireplace. She laid both hands on 
the carved, gilded mantelpiece and stood looking 
down at the dancing swirl of blue and gold. Sud¬ 
denly she put her face in her hands. 

Marie Josephine went up to her and touched her 



In the Schoolroom 


5 


arm, forgetting her own trouble for the moment. 
“What is it, Hortense? Why are you sad?” she 
asked. 

Hortense raised her face and smiled. “I’m not 
sad, cherie; not this afternoon. It is only that now 
everything seems grey and dreadful, and Tante is 
unhappy because so many of her friends have gone 
away, and because of everything.” 

“You’ll have the party,” Marie Josephine an¬ 
swered bitterly. 

Her cousin put her arm about her for a moment 
and gave her a little hug. “You want to go so badly. 
I do wish you could; but even if Madame de Soigne 
had asked you, Tante would never have allowed you 
to go. Twelve and a half doesn’t sound much 
younger than fourteen and a half, but it is, you 
know,” she said. 

“I’m always treated like a baby,” Marie Josephine 
replied. There was a good deal of truth in her 
words. She was small and quiet and shy. She 
would not be thirteen until November and that was 
three months away. 

Lisle came up to the fire, stepping over Flambeau, 
who had settled himself in the heat of the blaze, 
and pinched Marie Josephine’s ear. 

Prote came up to him with a collar of fluted gold 
tinsel and ermine. “Will you allow me to see if it 
fits properly, Monsieur Lisle?” she asked, putting 
her funny, plump face on one side as she examined 
her handiwork. 


6 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“No, I’ll not be bothered with frills to-day.” 
Lisle frowned this time in earnest, rubbing his 
shoulders restlessly against the side of the mantel 
and looking out of the window where dark trees 
tossed against a grey, stormy sky. 

Hortense and Denise both spoke at once. “Lisle!” 
they exclaimed. Denise jumped up and came over 
to him, dragging a piece of blue velvet after her and 
unmindful of the fact that a piece of black cardboard 
was sticking to her chin. They all burst out laugh¬ 
ing as she clasped her hands together and burst into 
a torrent of words. 

“Lisle, you’re not going to be obstinate. You are 
going to be the Sun King at the ball, aren’t you?” 
she pleaded. 

Lisle shrugged his shoulders, saying teasingly: 
“We shall see. I’ll not go with you if you do not 
clean your face. A nice, grown-up duchess you 
will make, with paste and black paper on your chin. 
I for one think it’s all nonsense. It’s stupid of the 
De Soignes to have a party now.” 

Lisle was tall, and he held his blond head high, 
which made him look even taller and older than he 
was. He would not be sixteen until the following 
winter. He had a very fair face with a pointed nose 
and blue eyes which had a straight unwinking way 
of looking at one. His cousin Hortense, who had 
lived in his family since her infancy, was almost as 
tall as he, but she was dark, like Marie Josephine. 
Strangers always took them for sisters. 


In the Schoolroom 


7 


“I think it’s splendid of the De Soignes to have 
the party!” Denise danced mockingly in front of 
her brother as she spoke. He had consented to 
allow Prote to try on the collar, but he stood frown¬ 
ing over her shoulder as she surveyed the effect. 

Some one came in quickly from the nurseries 
beyond. It was a short, sharp-nosed woman in a 
black silk dress with wide, flowing sleeves and a 
fichu of lace at the neck. This was Madame le Pont, 
the governess. 

“There you are, cherie. I have been uneasy 
because I could not find you. Surely you have not 
been in the garden unattended!” 

“I wasn’t in the garden. I was out on the balcony 
listening,” Marie Josephine answered. 

“Listening! What do you mean?” the governess 
asked her. 

“The noises of Paris, Madame. There are so 
many noises now. Flambeau was restless last night. 
He heard them, too!” 

There was a low rap on the door. It opened and 
a servant came in. He walked noiselessly about the 
room, a taper in his hand, and a moment later lights 
flickered and then shone bravely from the many 
candles in bronze sockets on the tapestried walls. 
The servant made a bright bit of color himself as 
he moved about in his trousers of crimson velvet. 

“Madame la Comtesse wishes the young ladies, 
Mademoiselle Hortense and Mademoiselle Denise, 


8 


Red Caps and Lilies 

to accompany her in an hour’s time to the house of 
Madame la Comtesse de Soigne,” he announced. 

Denise gave a little laugh of pleasure and danced 
the whole length of the room and back again. Then 
she caught Flambeau’s forepaws and tried to make 
him dance too, but the dog had such a bored expres¬ 
sion that Denise only laughed again and dropped his 
paws. 

“It is only Marie Josephine that you love, is it 
not, Flambeau?” she exclaimed, and then went on 
eagerly: “We shall enjoy talking about the ball 
with the dear De Soignes. Prote, I wish to wear 
my white cloak in spite of the storm.” 

“I am tired of the very name of this ball!” Lisle 
walked over to the door as he spoke, but turned as 
Denise answered him. 

“We are happy about it because we have had no 
fun in such a long time, now that everything is so 
different. Maman will not allow us to go out except 
in our own garden and to the De Soignes. It is only 
because they live in the next square that we may go 
there at all,” she said. 

“Maman is foolish!” Lisle exclaimed, and the 
governess admonished him. 

“Monsieur Lisle!” 

“It is true, Madame le Pont. There is no real 
danger, not here in Paris. It is 1792, not the dark 
ages. Help will come from the royalists in Europe. 
It is only a question of being patient. It is not really 
a revolution, you know!” 


In the Schoolroom 


9 


Marie Josephine watched her brother with ad¬ 
miration as he spoke. How tall and brave and 
confident he was! 

The governess smiled sadly but she was cheerful 
enough when she spoke. 

“Come at once, Mesdemoiselles,” she said briskly. 
“Prote, tell Felice that the young ladies wish their 
coiffures done at once, and see to their mantles and 
hats yourself.’’ Then she turned to Lisle, who still 
stood lounging against the door. 

“What will you do while they are away, Monsieur 
Lisle?” she asked. 

Lisle smiled in his quiet, teasing way. 

“I’m going to ride with my tutor, Madame,” he 
answered. 

Madame le Pont threw up her hands. “Please do 
not do it when it so worries Madame your mother. 
It makes her afraid when you are so reckless!” she 
exclaimed. 

“You are never to say that my mother is afraid, 
if you please, Madame,” Lisle said and, as he spoke, 
he opened the door and went out. 

Madame le Pont went over to the table and stood 
fingering the bits of gold lace there. Marie Jose¬ 
phine watched her. Why had she not been told 
that she could go with Hortense and Denise? 
Rosanne de Soigne was her greatest chum. They 
could have sat quietly in a corner and talked. Marie 
Josephine turned toward the nurseries and then 


10 Red Caps and Lilies 

looked back at the governess, who still stood by the 
table. 

“Le Pont is worrying. She is uneasy like maman. 
This is a bad time. Grandfather said that it would 
come. He said to me: ‘Little Marie Josephine, I 
can almost see the black clouds, they are so thick 
ahead of us. But when they come I shall not be here, 
and I am the only one that seems to know they are 
drifting toward us!’ ” 

The governess looked up and when she looked 
at Marie Josephine it was as though she had for 
the moment forgotten her. 

“Little one, what will you do while I am away 
this afternoon? Prote will amuse you if you like. 
Perhaps you will work for a little while on the 
tapestry for your great-aunt?” 

Marie Josephine shook her head vigorously. She 
stood thinking for a moment and then smiled up at 
the governess. 

“I won’t be lonely, Madame. I don’t mind them 
at all. They may have as many parties as they like. 
They may go out for gouter every afternoon. It is 
nothing to me. I do not care!” She spoke earnestly 
but she knew she was not speaking the truth and the 
governess knew it also. 

“But what will you do, then, all the rest of the 
afternoon?” Madame le Pont insisted. 

“I’ll be thinking of grandfather,” Marie Josephine 
answered. 


Chapter II 


MARIE JOSEPHINE’S SECRET 

Lisle put his head inside the schoolroom door 
before starting downstairs for his ride. Marie Jose¬ 
phine and Flambeau were standing by the window, 
and he crossed over to them, his jeweled riding crop 
and his gloves in his hand. His bright hair was tied 
at the back of his neck with a crisp, black ribbon. 
Marie Josephine turned toward him when she heard 
his footsteps. 

“I’ve been watching from the window. Le Pont 
is walking with maman in front and the girls are 
behind them, with Neville following. Why does 
not Georges go with them? Does he not always 
accompany maman?” 

“Georges has gone. He left our household early 
this morning. He is all for the people and has no 
longer any use for our kind. He is wise to go, for 
his neck is safer away from us than with us!” Lisle 
laughed down at her as he spoke. 

Marie Josephine put her arm about Flambeau’s 
neck and looked at her brother. 

“I don’t quite know what you mean, Lisle,” she 
said. 


11 


12 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“I mean that Georges would rather be where he 
can talk with people in the streets and make trouble,” 
Lisle answered, but he looked almost as puzzled as 
his sister. He was fifteen and the head of his house, 
but he had never been taught to think things out 
for himself. He had hardly ever been alone in all 
his life, for when he rode or walked a tutor had 
always been with him. He had fenced and danced 
and shot, had studied about the old kings and the 
exploits of his own ancestors, but, like Marie Jose¬ 
phine, he only vaguely understood what really was 
going on in Paris. 

“I want to go to Pigeon Valley, Lisle. I don’t 
like the sounds at night,” Marie Josephine said. 
She wanted to ask about the blue velvet and ermine 
and the crown but she could not make up her mind 
to do it. 

Lisle pulled her cherry-colored rosette. He had 
come back because he had teased her. She knew 
this and she suddenly put her head down on his arm. 

“I wish I could go to the bal masque, Lisle. It’s 
going to be so wonderful,” she whispered. 

“It is silly nonsense; that’s what it is! Madame 
de Soigne is giving the party for Cecile and Bertran. 
The fat Bertran needs a good caning instead of a 
bal masque. He knows I know he cheated at fencing 
last week. It is a foolish time to have a soiree when 
everything in the city is upside down!” Lisle an¬ 
swered her. 

“Maman said to Le Pont, ‘There is no longer any 


Marie Josephine’s Secret 13 

pleasure for us now that the king and queen are in 
such danger, but let the children enjoy themselves 
while they may.’ I did not overhear her. She said 
it before us all here in the schoolroom.” 

“Yes, maman fears always for the queen. Well, 
I must be off. Monsieur Laurent is waiting.” He 
lifted Marie Josephine’s chin and looked at her. 
“You are an odd little mortal. You are like grand¬ 
father.” Then he crossed the room and, looking 
back at her from the doorway, said: 

“I’ll tell you all about the silly party after it is 
over.” 

“The same night—as soon as you come home, no 
matter how late it is?” she called across the room 
excitedly. 

Lisle nodded. It was a long room and she looked 
such a little figure sitting there on the broad window 
sill. He was right. She was like their grandfather. 

She listened until his footsteps had died away. 
Prote was in the housekeeper’s room having a good 
gossip. She and Flambeau were alone. 

She settled back in the corner of the window sill, 
Flambeau at her feet. She liked being there alone, 
and she felt sleepy and comfortable. She was think¬ 
ing of her grandfather and of the spring afternoon 
two years before when they had had the adventure. 
She had often sat with him while he read or wrote 
and on that particular day she had found him look¬ 
ing at her in his sad, wistful way. The others had 
gone for a drive with Madame le Pont. The ser- 


14 


Red Caps and Lilies 

vants, except for the footmen on duty in the lower 
hall, were in their own part of the house, so they 
were quite alone. She had been sitting in the chair 
with the fawn and tiger coat of arms of the Saint 
Freres emblazoned in gold at the top of it. 

“You have l’esprit, little Marie,” he had said. 
“You are the one who will think and understand and 
you are the one of this generation who will know 
how to help. I have a secret to tell you and some¬ 
thing to show you. Promise me first that you will 
keep this afternoon locked up in your heart. Do not 
breathe of it to any soul unless the time should come 
when by so doing you feel that you will be of service 
to those you hold dear. Do you understand?” 
Grandfather had risen and come over to her as he 
spoke. “Do you understand, my child, that, after I 
am gone, except for one other, you are the only one 
who will know of what I am to show you and tell 
you?” 

“Who is the other one, grandfather?” she had 
asked, all afire with eager interest. 

Grandfather had shaken his head. “Do not con¬ 
cern yourself with that, little one. Be grateful that 
from them all I have chosen you. I am taking you 
down into the heart of the earth, Marie. I am going 
to tell you the legend of your house.” 

Flambeau barked suddenly and fiercely, his feet 
on the window seat, his eager eyes intent on some¬ 
thing which had caught his interest in the garden 


Marie Josephine’s Secret IS 

below. His bark brought Marie Josephine back to 
the present with a start. She jumped to her feet. 

“Come, Flambeau, we’ll go down to the cellar,” 
she said. She ran across the room and the dog 
followed her with graceful bounds. When they 
reached the staircase, Marie Josephine leaned over 
the banister and listened, and Flambeau stopped and 
listened too. At the top of the first flight of stairs 
they both stopped and listened again. There was 
not a sound in the great house. 

The next staircase was steep and they had to be 
cautious. Marie Josephine felt along the side of 
the rough stone wall as they walked, and she placed 
one foot before the other very carefully on the 
uneven hollows of the stone steps. It was a long 
way down to the cellars. They stopped to rest 
several times and welcomed the flare of a taper set 
in the wall at the bottom of the stairs. A damp, 
musty odor greeted them and a gusty wind blew 
about them. 

All along one side of the cellar were shelves on 
which were jars of the good fig jam made by Mother 
Barbette at Les Vignes, the Saint Freres’ summer 
home in Pigeon Valley. Barrels of apples and pota¬ 
toes stood in dusky corners. Marie Josephine went 
over to the shelves and sniffed at the jam. Then 
she spoke to Flambeau. 

“I want to see Mother Barbette, Flambeau. I 
want to see Jean and Dian and Pince Nez, the crow. 


16 


Red Caps and Lilies 

I want our home, Les Vignes. The lilies will be in 
bloom all along the south terrace.” 

She sat down on the lowest step of the cellar stairs 
and put her chin on her hand, shaking her dark ring¬ 
lets away from her face. A rat scudded all the way 
along a rafter above her head, making a queer, 
squeaking noise as he did so. Marie Josephine had 
seen him before, or at any rate one of his kind. He 
was a part of the expedition and the fun. She liked 
sitting there in the gloom, with Flambeau’s head 
against her knee, the silence of the house above her, 
and below her the secret! The cellars had been just 
as dusky and mysterious two years ago as they were 
to-day. Flambeau’s feet had scraped the same way 
against the stone floor. The only difference was 
that she was now almost thirteen and that grand¬ 
father had died! 

She stood up and went quickly across to a far 
corner of the cellar, Flambeau following her. She 
knelt down near a pile of sacks filled with potatoes, 
and felt along the cold floor. Still leaning on the 
floor with one hand, she gave Flambeau’s head a 
little pat with the other. 

“You are not to be afraid, you know, Flambeau. 
No Saint Frere is ever afraid. Grandfather said 
so; and you are one of the family you know, Flam¬ 
beau !” 

She felt carefully along the floor. She knew well 
that it was the seventh stone square from the corner 
that she wanted, and she found it easily, in spite of 



Flambeau 






















Marie Josephine’s Secret 17 

the shadowy, uncertain light from the torch by the 
stairs. Then she spoke again to Flambeau. 

“This is the stone. It will open, you know. It 
always does, even though it never seems as though 
it really could. No one knows about it but you and 
me and the other one.” 

She put her head sideways so that it rested for a 
moment on Flambeau’s upturned face, and she felt 
the eager response of a warm, rough tongue. Then 
she leaned over again, putting her palm on the center 
of the seventh stone, and pressing down upon it. 
At the same time she laid her other hand on the 
upper left side of the stone and pushed away from 
herself, and slowly and noiselessly it slid aside, dis¬ 
closing a long, steep, ladderlike flight of stairs, 
leading down into what might have been the inner¬ 
most depths of the earth! 

Marie Josephine reached down to the right into 
the dark, yawning, square hole and lifted out a small 
iron Ianthorn which rested on a ledge just under¬ 
neath the stone panel. Then she struck the flint 
against the tinder, opened the lanthorn’s squeaky 
little lid, and lit the wick. A bright blue flame shot 
up at once, and, when she had shut the wee door, 
settled to a steady flame. She turned around and 
began to descend backward, resting the Ianthorn 
on each step as she went down. When she had gone 
down several steps, she called softly to the dog, and 
he followed, facing her, putting one strong, slender 


18 Red Caps and Lilies 

foot in front of the other, with slow, unerring 
precision. 

It was a long, slow descent, and as they went 
farther and farther into the musty gloom, a chill 
closeness enveloped them. Finally they reached the 
last step and found themselves on another stone 
floor, more uneven than the floor above, one that 
seemed to hold the echoes of the ages. 

It was a large room into which they had come 
and there was the grey glimmer of rooms beyond. 
The walls were rough hewn, and trickles of water 
faintly edged their way through the massive stones. 
There was an astonishing air of homelikeness about 
the strange place. A huge red rug hung against one 
side of the wall, and above a great carved chest at 
the other end was a tapestry of the crusaders. The 
rug, though old, was still in good condition. It had 
been hung there by a Saint Frere just three genera¬ 
tions back, but the tapestry had been there much 
longer, so long that it seemed a part of the ancient 
place. Near the ladderlike stairs was a long stone 
shelf and it shone and gleamed in the light from 
the lanthorn. 

Marie Josephine sat down on the chest and leaned 
her head against the rough wall. The whole adven¬ 
ture of coming to the secret cellar was enthralling, 
but the most wonderful part of it was sitting there 
and thinking of Lisle Saint Frere, her oldest ances¬ 
tor, he who had laid the first stone of this ancient 
place and whose one thought had been always to 


19 


Marie Josephine’s Secret 

help others and to serve the right. As she sat there 
she felt the tears smarting in her eyes. She was 
thinking of her grandfather too. She fancied that 
she could see him walking up and down, a slight 
figure in his black velvet breeches and long coat, the 
brilliants shining on his pointed shoes, his delicate 
hands clasped together, the soft frills of lace falling 
over them. Yet it was not so much of him that she 
was thinking as of what he had said to her: 

“It all began so long ago. This house is not like 
other houses, Marie. You know that well; all of 
you do. It is not just an old house like that of your 
Great-aunt Hortense, or of the De Soignes, or of 
others of our friends. This house is ancient, Marie. 
It is medieval! It was standing here when Lisle 
Saint Frere, your oldest ancestor, was brought home 
mortally wounded, and that is farther back than 
even your fancy can take you, little one—almost as 
long ago as the time of Charlemagne and the Song 
of Roland! It was built in the time of knights at 
arms. It was the idea of that first Lisle Saint Frere, 
and it was he who laid its first stone, he who became 
the bravest knight of his time in all France. He 
was the best one of us that ever lived. There has 
never been another who was so good.” 

“Except you, grandfather,” she had said stoutly, 
and as she sat there in the dim stillness, she remem¬ 
bered that his face had lightened at her words. But 
he had answered her earnestly: 

“I am poor indeed in the little I have done for 


20 Red Caps and Lilies 

my brother man, Marie. I have dreamed—just 
dreamed. I have wanted to help, but I have not 
known how. In each generation one of us has 
wanted to help, has been weighed down by the 
misery of those upon our lands. There is a time 
coming, mark me well, Marie, when the old days 
shall be at an end, when new ways of freedom shall 
sweep the old regime away. You will live to see 
that day. Be strong, Marie. There is not a young 
lamb at Pigeon Valley that you do not love. There 
is not a human being whom you could not love. 
You will see beyond the tinsel and the satin. You 
are the truest descendant of Lisle Saint Frere.” 

She had protested, “Lisle is the truest, grand¬ 
father !’’ 

He had answered: “Lisle is too proud. I have 
brought you to this secret cellar which has sheltered 
your ancestors in peril. No one has ever known of 
it except one of our family in every generation and 
one other who is outside the family. Keep it a secret 
unless the time should come when by disclosing it 
you can help some one in need. Meanwhile, be glad 
that you are the one of this generation to know!” 

She began to be sleepy as she sat on the chest, 
thinking of all that her grandfather had told her, 
wondering who the “other one” could be. She 
jumped up, called Flambeau, and slowly and care¬ 
fully they made their way up the steep, ladderlike 
stairs. A grey gleam of light greeted them through 
the open secret panel. Flambeau scrambled up on to 


Marie Josephine's Secret 21 

the cellar floor after Marie Josephine and watched 
her, his nose quivering with interest, as she shut 
the panel. 

She knelt there for a minute thinking of the old 
green lanthorn which she had put out and so care¬ 
fully placed on its ledge under the secret stone, of 
the hidden room itself, and of the Lisle Saint Frere 
who had helped to build it with his own mailed 
hands. Last of all she thought of her grandfather 
and of the honor he had done her in letting her be 
the Saint Frere of her generation to know the secret. 
Then, suddenly, she remembered that her dancing 
master was to come at five. She brushed the cob¬ 
webs from her wide skirts and climbed up from the 
sombre cellar to the stately spaciousness of her home. 


Chapter III 


THE BAL MASQUfi 

“You need not worry at all, Prote. No one will 
know. It will be quite easy. Gonfleur is waiting at 
the door. You have said yourself that Mademoiselle 
Marie Josephine should not miss the fun.” 

A small figure in a white cloak was following the 
little maid up a stairway leading from a side garden 
door of the Saint Frere house as she spoke. 

“Mademoiselle may not be asleep. She often lies 
awake these nights. It is indeed a shame that she 
should not have gone with the others. But you, 
Mademoiselle, will they miss you?” 

They were outside the nursery door as Rosanne 
de Soigne answered. She looked up at Prote and 
spoke indignantly. 

“They think that I am asleep in bed with some 
silly bonbons under my pillow. It is the same with 
me as with Marie Josephine; they treat me as though 
I were a child. To-night I have an idea! You will 
hear me tell Mademoiselle!” 

Prote opened the door leading to a small room 
off the day nursery which was Marie Josephine’s 
22 


The Bal Masque 23 

own apartment. She was not asleep, and as they 
came into the room she sat up in bed and said: 

“What is it, Prote? What has happened?” 

“Nothing has happened, Mademoiselle, except 
that your friend, Mademoiselle Rosanne de Soigne, 
has come to see you,” Prote replied, lighting a candle 
as she spoke. 

Rosanne came up to the bed and, before Marie 
Josephine, in her bewilderment, could speak, said 
eagerly: 

“You are to come with me, Marie Josephine. 
Prote is to dress you at once. You shall not be left 
out of the ball. Listen! I know a place where we 
can see it all, watch the dancing, and hear the music! 
Gonfleur is to bring us gouter when the others are 
having theirs. It will be the greatest fun!” 

Marie Josephine was so surprised for a moment 
that she could not speak. 

“Hurry, for we must not miss any of it. Prote 
has your stockings. Let her put them on,” urged 
Rosanne. 

Marie Josephine stuck out her foot obediently, 
and Prote, kneeling beside her, pulled on the stock¬ 
ings, muttering to herself distressfully: 

“This is dreadful. What if Madame la Com- 
tesse should know! May the good saints protect 
me if Madame should find us out!” 

When Prote said this, Marie Josephine seemed 
to wake up to the situation and, leaning over, patted 
the round knob at the back of the little maid’s head. 


24 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“You are a foolish girl, Prote. Have you not 
raged to me and to Monsieur Lisle because I was 
not invited? You even spoke to Le Pont. I heard 
you say to her, ‘They must have been selfish indeed 
to have so forgotten the Little Mademoiselle!’ ” 

While Marie Josephine was speaking, Prote was 
putting on her little silken undergarments, fastening 
the tapes which tied them with nervous fingers. Then 
she slipped a light silk frock over her head and put 
a blue cape about her shoulders. 

“Come, Mesdemoiselles, I will escort you to Gon- 
fleur. I shall be waiting for you at the garden door 
when the clock strikes ten, Little Mademoiselle. 
You must be in bed and asleep before Madame la 
Comtesse and the others return,” admonished Prote. 

They had come out to the upper landing and they 
stood for a moment looking down into the great 
hall below. A man servant in red and white livery 
was passing through the hall. He stooped and ex¬ 
tinguished the candles, until at last only a tall one 
in a high, golden candlestick on a marble table near 
the door was left burning. 

“We must go down the other way. It would not 
do for the servants to know. One cannot be too 
careful in these bad times,” whispered Prote as they 
walked down a long hall, lit dimly by flaring candles 
in bronze sockets. 

There was a light patter of steps behind them 
and turning they saw that Flambeau was following 
them. Prote shook her stubby finger at him, whis- 


The Bal Masque 25 

pering in a hissing sort of way that made her voice 
sound almost like a whistle in the gusty corridor. 

“Ah, the bad dog! You are to go back at once 
to Mademoiselle’s room. You are not to follow!” 

Marie Josephine and Rosanne giggled, and Flam¬ 
beau came forward slowly, in spite of Prote’s up¬ 
raised hand and threatening looks. 

“You know that he will come, as he goes every¬ 
where with us. There is no use to urge him to go 
back.” Rosanne pulled impatiently at Prote’s arm 
as she spoke. The little maid only raised her hands 
as though in despair, and the four of them started 
to descend the steep flight of stairs. The two girls 
were both laughing softly with excitement, holding 
each other’s hands and looking back at Flambeau. 

Marie Josephine knew this staircase well, but she 
said nothing. No one must know that she had ever 
been down these stairs before, because they were a 
part of grandfather’s secret. 

An old man was waiting for them at the door 
leading into the garden. It was Gonfleur, the ser¬ 
vant who had come with Rosanne. He held a lighted 
lanthorn in one hand and when he saw Prote and 
the children, he started to shuffle slowly along the 
path ahead of them, holding the lanthorn carefully 
so that they could see their way. 

“We are both fools, you an old one and I a young 
one, Gonfleur. See that you return with Mademoi¬ 
selle Marie Josephine at ten exactly, or it will be 


26 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the worse for you!” Prote called after him in her 
funny, hissing way. 

Gonfleur made no reply and, holding open the 
heavy garden door, let his two charges through and 
then followed them. They found themselves on the 
walk outside, the sultry dampness of an August night 
all about them. The roar of the city could be heard 
in the distance and from the corner came the sound 
of rough laughter and harsh voices. They turned 
away in the opposite direction from the voices and, 
as it was only a very little way to the iron door 
leading to the back entrance to the De Soigne man¬ 
sion, they found themselves shut away from the 
street soon again, almost before they knew it. 

It had been exciting to them both, that little walk 
through the night. Neither of them had ever been 
out this way before. Marie Josephine had never 
seen the city after sundown but once, and that was 
when, because of some trouble with their horses, 
they had been delayed in coming back from Pigeon 
Valley, where they spent their summers, and their 
coach had not entered Paris until evening. That 
had been the summer before. 

When once they were inside the little door leading 
to the vast back quarters of the great mansion, there 
was no longer any need of Gonfleur’s lanthorn to 
light them, for all the way up the winding stairs 
were flaring torches. At the foot of the stairs the 
old servant bowed and left them. Rosanne called 
after him: 


The Bal Masque 27 

“You are not to forget to come with the sweets, 
Gonfleur!” 

“I will remember, of a surety, Mademoiselle.” 

They were so far from the region of the bal 
masque that only the faintest sound of music came 
to them. Rosanne took her friend’s hand and they 
climbed up the steep stairs side by side. Marie 
Josephine knew where they were going or at least 
she guessed. It was the place above all others where 
she liked best to play. It was a little square balcony 
in the wall at the very tiptop of the house and one 
could reach it by this back flight of stairs. The two 
children had discovered it some years ago and, on 
the rare occasions when they were left to themselves, 
they had climbed up to it and looked down into the 
vastness of the great hall below. 

The music of a minuet was being played as the 
two settled themselves in a corner of the balcony 
and looked down. The minuet music was very 
pretty, and the sight upon which they gazed was 
pretty, too. 

“It is like maman’s picture of which she is so fond 
—the picture where all the people are dancing. It 
is by Monsieur Watteau. Grandfather told me so,” 
whispered Marie Josephine. 

“There is no need at all for whispering,” Rosanne 
answered in natural tones. “No one could hear us 
if we were to shout ever so loud!” 

They sat close together because they felt a little 
cold. Drifts of chill air came in from behind them. 


28 


Red Caps and Lilies 

It seemed as though even in mid-summer there was 
always a breath of dampness at the De Soignes’. 

Below them the many-colored throng moved 
through the dainty measures of the dance. The 
sound of laughter and young voices blended with 
the sweet strains of the music. It seemed like fairy¬ 
land to the two who looked down on it. 

“We can only guess who they are until they take 
off their masks, but I think that fat one in the red 
mantle is my cousin Bertran du Monde,” Rosanne 
said, leaning far over and peering around the corner, 
as she tried to follow the figure of a boy in red. 

Marie Josephine looked too. 

“Yes, that is Bertran. What a fat, funny boy he 
is! Do you remember how he teased us the after¬ 
noon that he came to tea with us all in our school¬ 
room? He is a stupid boy. You do not mind my 
saying that even if he is your cousin, do you ?” Marie 
Josephine laughed mischievously as she spoke. 

Rosanne laughed happily. 

“No, it is true. He is a stupid, fat boy, and he 
is often very rude. See, is that not your cousin 
Hortense, the tall girl dancing with-?” 

Marie Josephine interrupted her. 

“It’s Lisle, Hortense and Lisle. She is almost 
as tall as he is and she is only fifteen. She looks 
so very grown-up. How happy I should be if I 
could dance the minuet with Lisle! He always thinks 
me such a baby!” 

There was a little choke in Marie Josephine’s 





Lisle 
















29 


The Bal Masque 

voice as she said this, and she looked down very 
wistfully at the fun going on in the great banquet 
hall. 

“The fruit and bonbons and the eau sucre are in 
the small room at the right. They will be going in 
there very soon after dancing for refreshment. 
Gonfleur has promised to bring us sweets and he will 
not forget. He is very good.” Rosanne lowered 
her voice a little though there was really no need. 
The music had stopped and gay, chattering groups 
walked slowly about or went on, as Rosanne had 
prophesied, to the room beyond. 

Marie Josephine did not answer. She was deep 
in thought, her chin wedged in between the carved 
wooden spokes of the tiny balcony. How wonderful 
to be down there in the midst of all the glitter of 
lights and jewels, gold lace and flowers, and to have 
Lisle for her partner, Lisle in his blue velvet and 
brilliants 1 

Rosanne’s quick eyes looked here and there. Her 
one desire was to discover her friends and cousins 
among the gay throng below. She agreed with 
Marie Josephine that they had found Bertran, but 
was not so sure about his sister Cecile. 

“Cecile would not let me see her beforehand. She 
did not come in with the others when they bade me 
good night. She knows about the balcony. I told 
her I’d be here and she thought it the greatest fun. 
She said she would do her best to see me and let me 
see her. She said she would come right underneath 


30 


Red Caps and Lilies 

me if she could and that she would look up. Then 
I could tell that it was she. You see I don’t know 
what her costume is at all.” As she spoke, Rosanne 
moved a little so that Flambeau could wedge himself 
in next to her. 

“Did you tell Cecile that you were coming with 
Gonfleur to get me?” whispered Marie Josephine. 
She could not help whispering; it made it all seem 
more exciting. 

Rosanne shook her head. “No, I didn’t dare to 
do that. She would have been worried. Oh, she 
would have begged me not to go. Why, no one 
would think of such a thing, Marie Josephine; no 
one would ever believe I’d go out alone with just 
a servant at night!” 

“It was a splendid thing to do, and I’ll not forget 
it,” answered Marie Josephine warmly. Then, with 
Flambeau’s head upon her knee, she sat quietly 
looking down. The music of a gavotte had begun 
and it was like a ripple of laughter. It made Marie 
Josephine think of Pigeon Valley and her home, Les 
Vignes. 

They had always spent their summers at Les 
Vignes until this year. Marie Josephine had often 
heard the governess say: “We must thank God for 
Les Vignes, children. It is a refuge from all trouble.” 
Marie Josephine knew that there had been fighting 
in the streets, and that many of their friends had 
left France. Her maman no longer went out to 




The Bal Masque 31 

grand soirees. There was sadness and restlessness 
everywhere. 

“But I am happy to-night. Everyone is happy,” 
she thought. She had often heard Hortense and 
Denise anticipating the wonder of their first ball. 
They would wear the family jewels. It would be 
the grandest affair! Well, they had three years to 
wait. This was small in comparison to what that 
gala ball would be! This was just a handful of 
boys and girls in costumes made up for the moment 
by governesses and servants. There were bad times 
in the city. The people had imprisoned the king, 
Louis XVI, and the queen, Marie Antoinette, in the 
Tuileries palace. 

“Things are always happening, but to-night they 
are happy things,” Marie Josephine said to Rosanne, 
and by way of answer, her friend said excitedly: 

“There is Cecile, all in white! She’s holding out 
her silver wand as she dances. See! She’s looking 
up at us and smiling, though she cannot see us. It 
is too dark up here, and we are too far away.” 

“I love Cecile better than any one except maman 
and Lisle and grandfather and Dian and you,” 
Marie Josephine answered solemnly. 

“Not better than your own sister!” exclaimed 
Rosanne in shocked tones. 

Marie Josephine nodded. “Yes, better than 
Denise. Cecile is like a maiden in a fairy tale, 
Denise isn’t.” 


32 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“Listen. Is that not Gonfleur coming up the 
stairs? He is bringing the gouter,” said Rosanne. 

The girls peered down through the little door at 
the back of the balcony and after a moment Gon¬ 
fleur turned a bend and came toward them. 

“How fast he is climbing! I did not know his 
malady, the rheumatism, would permit him to go 
so fast!” exclaimed Marie Josephine. 

When he came a little nearer Rosanne called softly 
to him: 

“Good Gonfleur, you have come with sweets for 
us. You do well to hurry!” 

The old man puffed for a moment as he reached 
the top step. Then he picked up Marie Josephine’s 
cloak from the back of the chair and began to put 
it around her. 

“You are to come at once, Mademoiselle—at 
once, if you please, at once,” he muttered as he tied 
the ribbons at her throat with trembling fingers. 

“What are you doing, Gonfleur? Mademoiselle 
Saint Frere is not to go home until we have had the 
sweets. Where are they? Do not hurry so!” 
Rosanne put her hand on Gonfleur’s arm and shook 
it. “Do not say that it has been discovered that 
she came here to-night,” she went on. 

Gonfleur shook his head. “There is need of haste. 
The Little Mademoiselle cannot stay longer. No, 
she is not found out. It is not that. Would to the 
kind God is was only that, Mademoiselle. It is not 


The Bal Masque 33 

a good night to be out.” Gonfleur stood shaking 
his head, still trembling as he answered. 

“Not a good night. What can you mean! It is 
a beautiful night. Do you not see how splendid it 
is downstairs and how happy we all are?” Rosanne 
frowned and spoke impatiently, holding on to Marie 
Josephine’s cape. “You shall not take her away so 
soon. She shall have the sweets and fruit before 
she goes.” 

“It is not happy outside, Mademoiselle Rosanne,” 
Gonfleur answered. Then turning to Marie Jose¬ 
phine, he said: “We will go back as we came, Made¬ 
moiselle. It is only a step to your portal where 
Prote will be waiting, but we must not delay. I 
entreat you, Mademoiselle, not to delay.” 

Gonfleur spoke so earnestly and seemed so uneasy 
that the two girls were impressed. There seemed 
nothing else to do but for Marie Josephine to go 
with him at once. The two friends kissed each other 
on each cheek and then, her hand in Gonfleur’s 
and with Flambeau at her heels, Marie Josephine 
went down the long, steep stairs. On the first land¬ 
ing she turned and looked back at Rosanne, who 
stood in the dusk of the red velvet lined balcony 
looking down at her, her fair hair falling about her 
shoulders. Marie Josephine waved her hand and 
Rosanne waved back. 

Gonfleur’s lanthorn was already lit, and it stood 
on an iron ledge by the door leading from the foot 
of the stairs to the courtyard of the great house. 


34 


Red Caps and Lilies 

The court was deserted and they crossed it quickly, 
Gonfleur holding his charge’s hand firmly, and not 
once letting it go except for the moment when he 
unlocked the door leading from the court to the 
street. Marie Josephine was indignant with him 
for hurrying her away in such a fashion in the midst 
of the fun and before the sweets were served. She 
would have insisted on staying and would have told 
Gonfleur to wait until it was her pleasure to go, if 
her own position had not been an uncertain one. She 
had never done anything so daring before. 

Gonfleur shut the door quickly behind them and 
they turned to the left, crossed the street, and found 
themselves at the side portal of the Saint Frere house 
before they knew it. As they stood for a moment 
in front of the door while Gonfleur fumbled with 
the lock in his near-sighted way, the loud clatter of 
horses’ hoofs rang out sharply in the confused night 
air. Marie Josephine looked back over her shoulder 
as they turned into the garden. She saw a squad 
of mounted soldiers rush by at full speed and dis¬ 
appear in a flash down a side street to the right. 

Gonfleur muttered to himself as he pushed her 
gently along the garden path. Prote was waiting 
at the door and Marie Josephine was glad to see 
her. Prote took her hand and squeezed it and Marie 
Josephine squeezed back. 

“Put Mademoiselle to bed at once. There is 
rough work to-night. Hear that!” They stood 


The Bal Masque 35 

still and listened. There was a dull, heavy booming 
sound. Prote raised her hands. 

“Cannon; and it’s the Tuileries. Neville told me 
a half hour ago that there were wild doings to-night. 
I’ll take care of Mademoiselle, never fear. Now 
get you home, Gonfleur. The others will be coming 
when they know there’s trouble.” As she spoke 
Prote shut the door and bolted it. Then she and 
Marie Josephine and Flambeau climbed the stairs 
as quickly as they could. 

Prote’s fingers flew in undressing Marie Josephine 
and very soon she was tucked in her big bed. She 
lay awake a little while thinking of the music and 
the dancing and how lovely Rosanne’s cousin Cecile 
had looked in her white and silver frock and with 
her hair powdered. 

“She seemed really grown-up, not pretending like 
Hortense and Denise, yet she is only fifteen. I saw 
the party anyway. What would Lisle and the girls 
say if they knew! I am nearly thirteen and they 
treat me like a baby. I am not a baby. I think more 
than Denise and I read many books that she does 
not know about at all, and I know about things too, 
battles and poems and old, old days that grandfather 

told me about. I’m not young at all, really I-” 

She was asleep! 

When she awoke it was still dark. Flambeau’s 
cold nose was touching her arm and Lisle was sitting 
on the edge of her bed. In her astonishment she 
sat up and stared at him. He had thrown back the 



36 


Red Caps and Lilies 

blue velvet, ermine-trimmed mantle that he had worn 
at the ball, and had unsheathed his jeweled sword. 
It glowed like a live thing on the whiteness of the 
satin counterpane. In the light from a flaring socket 
just outside the open door, his white face, fair hair, 
and the gleaming crystals on his costume shone in 
the summer darkness. 

Marie Josephine touched his arm. “Lisle, why 
are you here?” she asked. “Isn’t it the middle of 
the night?” She shook the curls from her eyes, 
shivering a little in the midnight cold. 

“I was just sitting here. I’m sorry you woke up, 
but now that you are awake I will tell you something. 
You are to leave for Pigeon Valley at six in the 
morning, you and Hortense and Denise, and of 
course Madame le Pont and Prote,” Lisle said. 

“And Flambeau?” 

Lisle shrugged his shoulders. “The dog goes 
everywhere with you. Bertran du Monde is going 
too, and his servant. They will ride by the coach. 
Bertran will be staying at Les Vignes with you.” 

“Bertran du Monde! But he is not your great 
friend. You will not want him as a companion. 
Why does he go ?” Marie Josephine was bewildered 
and not yet quite awake. It all seemed like a dream 
to her. 

“I am not going with you.” 

What was it Lisle was saying ? His sister grabbed 
his arm and shook it. 

“Don’t tease me. You always go to Les Vignes,” 


37 


The Bal Masque 

she said, but she felt that he meant what he had 
said and knew in her heart that he was not teasing. 

“I am telling you the truth. You are going at 
six just as I have said. A rider has gone ahead 
to-night to prepare the servants at Les Vignes. You 
are to be quiet and obedient and are not to sulk.” 
Lisle spoke sternly but he did not frighten his sister 
at all. She put her arm about his shoulders and 
laid her face close to his. He did not return her 
caress, but sat looking straight in front of him. 
Marie Josephine sat back against her pillows, wink¬ 
ing her eyes rapidly to keep the tears back. When 
she had put her cheek close to her brother’s she had 
felt something wet. It had been a tear. She must 
never let him know. He would never forgive her 
if he found it out. 

“When are you coming?” she asked a little 
timidly. 

“I don’t know. I shall not leave maman.” 

“You mean because of all the noise and shooting 
and trouble and keeping the king and queen in 
prison,” asked Marie Josephine. 

Lisle nodded. “Maman will not go. She says 
it would be disloyal. She is right. If it is disloyal 
for her, it is disloyal for me. But we will talk no 
more to-night. Then there is Great-aunt Hortense— 
we cannot leave her. You are to get up at once 
when Prote calls you, take your petit dejeuner, 
and then say good-by to maman. You are to shed 


38 Red Caps and Lilies 

no tears. Now lie down and go to sleep. I will tuck 
you up!” 

Marie Josephine lay down, shutting her eyes 
obediently, though the tears forced themselves from 
under her lashes. 

Lisle leaned over and kissed her. 

“Always remember that you are a Saint Frere, 
Marie Josephine,” he said. 


Chapter IV 


JEAN 


“Jean!” 

Mother Barbette listened. It was the third time 
she had called within five minutes. First it had been 
“Petit Jean,” then “Jean,” and the third time there 
was a note in her voice which meant, “If you know 
what’s best for you, you’d better come at once. I 
know you’re hiding somewhere. The branches of 
the pear tree by the old well make good switches!” 

She waited, listening. There was no answer 
except the sleepy twitter of meadow larks in the 
field beyond. Mother Barbette shaded her eyes 
from the hot noon sunshine and looked off across 
the deep green of grass and trees. The grass had 
been freshly cut and mounds of it lay about the 
cottage dooryard. Its sweet, warm scent was every¬ 
where. 

“You are somewhere about, of that I’m sure, and 
now I’m going to find out!” Mother Barbette’s 
black eyes twinkled mischievously as she spoke. 
“When I went up to the big house with the eggs I 
heard such a piece of news!” she called out. 

A green mound moved suddenly in a jerking way, 
and the next second a dark head and two bright 
39 


40 


Red Caps and Lilies 

black eyes peered out. Then a brown hand ap¬ 
peared, closing quickly and just missing an elusive 
yellow butterfly. Then the whole of the boy came 
into view. He was covered with grass from head 
to foot. It stuck to his frayed, yellow trousers and 
had crept down the collar of his black blouse. It 
tickled his nose, and he blinked his eyes for it was 
even wound into his eyelashes. He had swallowed 
some of it, and when he saw his mother’s surprised 
face, he began to laugh, and then to choke, and she 
had to slap him on the shoulders before he could 
stop. As soon as he could speak, he said eagerly: 

“Tell me at once, Petite Mere, tell me what you 
heard.” He caught at her apron and pulled it. 
“Was there news of Paris, of the young ladies and 
Monsieur Lisle?” 

“Maybe it was that!” Mother Barbette chuckled 
as she spoke. 

“You are teasing me, Petite Mere. Tell me, is 
the family coming?” 

Jean tugged at the blue apron. He was small 
for his thirteen years, and had a quaint, babylike 
face. 

“Some of them are coming!” His mother was 
teasing now. 

Jean frowned but he smiled almost at the same 
time, so that a dimple showed in his thin cheek. 

“You know it is of Mademoiselle Marie Jose¬ 
phine I would hear. Tell me, is she coming?” he 
asked breathlessly. 



/ 

Jean 












































* 

















, 

. 








. 






























Jean 


41 


His mother nodded, and he began to jump up and 
down, up and down, until he could not jump any 
more. Then he threw himself down upon the mound 
of grass from which he had emerged and flung his 
broad, torn straw hat up in the air, shouting as 
loud as he could shout, which was very loud 
indeed. His mother put both her hands over her 
ears. 

“Hush, you are like a wild animal to-day. Little 
Mademoiselle will not wish to speak with you if 
you are rough. Come, I’ve no time to stand idle 
here. There is so much to do, the apartments to 
make ready. It is different indeed from the old 
days, for only the governess and one maid, the little, 
fat Prote, are to accompany the young ladies. None 
of the other servants of the Paris household are to 
come. There will only be the cook and scullery 
servants, an upstairs maid or two, and two men 
servants at Les Vignes—no state, no ceremony, no 
gaiety of any kind. The messenger who brought 
the news says that some of the Paris servants have 
left, and others are going. He says that they are 
storming the Tuileries palace—the people I mean, 
thousands of them. Madame la Comtesse became 
alarmed at the sound of battle and the cannonading, 
and late last night she sent a rider here. He ar¬ 
rived at mid-afternoon, and would only stay for 
a glass of wine and a bite of bread. He said he 
must make haste back again.” As Mother Bar¬ 
bette talked, she went inside her cottage door and 


42 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Jean followed her, giving whoops of delight as he 
did so. His mother looked at him gravely. 

“You need not make so much noise, my child. 
It is because of bad times that the young demoiselles 
are coming. We are so out of the way here in 
Pigeon Valley, without so much as an inn or a shop. 
Jacques, the rider, says we may be thankful that 
we are away from the towns. We are better off, 
he says, just to be here by ourselves in the valley, 
but we are bad enough off, some of us!” Mother 
Barbette sighed as she went over to her white wood 
table which, having been freshly scrubbed, shone 
in the late sunshine. “Jacques told many things 
and I know he spoke the truth, but it is hard to 
believe them.” She wrapped two loaves of bread, 
which stood on the table, in a clean towel which 
she took from a table drawer. 

Jean was impressed by his mother’s tones, and 
followed her over to the table. 

“What did he say, Petite Mere?” he asked. 

“Many things which you must not hear, or you 
will be having bad dreams as you did after eating 
so much of the cherry tart that the kind Nannette 
at the big house made for me on my birthday. Run 
now with this bread to your cousins.” Mother 
Barbette sighed as she handed the bundle to Jean, 
who put out his under lip sulkily. 

“They had bread on Monday. Grigge is a hor¬ 
rid boy. I do not like any of them,” he objected. 
Nevertheless he took the bundle and started slowly 


Jean 


43 


toward the door. He knew that it would not do to 
trifle with his mother that day, but there was noth¬ 
ing he disliked more than a visit to his cousins, who 
lived in a straggling settlement of poor hovels near 
the entrance to Les Vignes. 

“Do not grumble or complain or you will have a 
good taste of the pear-tree switch. Your cousins, 
have nothing, and never have had anything. You 
should not be selfish just because you have food 
every day, and goat’s milk too. It is only because 
of the kindness of the old Comte Saint Frere, who 
left in his will the word that you and I were to 
have our maintenance here in the cottage, that we 
are not begging for our food in the town squares. 
You know that well. It is not Madame la Comtesse 
who cares where we are or what we do. Run now, 
and take shame to yourself for your greediness!” 

Mother Barbette was very uneasy and this made 
her tongue sharper than usual. She stood at the 
door watching Jean. He was all she had in the 
world, and when he looked at her with his merry, 
naughty, black eyes she seemed to see the young 
Jean Barbette who had wooed and married her, and 
who had died some few years back defending the old 
Comte Saint Frere from an attack by a stag when 
on a hunt. The fine old comte had never starved 
the peasants working for him, or laughed at their 
misery. The young Comte Lisle, too, had some¬ 
thing gallant and lovable about him, in spite of the 
proud way he held his head. Mother Barbette 


44 


Red Caps and Lilies 

sighed again, but soon she remembered that she 
had no time to stand and dream, and immediately 
began to busy herself about the cottage, humming 
the while. After giving a stir to the soup in the 
iron stock pot which hung over a low fire in her 
wide, stone fireplace, she went out, not even closing 
the cottage door after her. A loud caw greeted 
her as she stood for a moment drinking in the 
clear air. It was sunset time, and the sky showed 
salmon pink through the waving greenness of the 
trees. Mother Barbette turned and saw a black 
crow sitting on the stone window ledge. 

“You need not caw to me, Pince Nez. You 
need not say you are sorry because you stole my 
thimble and tape last night and went off and hid 
them somewhere. Pince Nez! What a silly name 
even if Little Mademoiselle did give it to you!” 
Madame Barbette smiled as she hurried down the 
path and then, to her right, up the driveway to 
the great house, which loomed grimly against the 
sunset-tinted sky. The gamekeeper’s lodge was near 
the house, and so it was only a walk of a few min¬ 
utes. There had not been another gamekeeper since 
her Jean had been killed, for the old comte had 
died and the young Comte Lisle was too young for 
hunting. Louise Barbette, with her boy, lived on at 
the lodge, making a scanty living for both of them 
by sewing when she could get any to do, and by 
weeding her tiny garden, which furnished all the 
food they had, except for the poor flour which made 


Jean 45 

the thin, dark loaves of bread which she had sent 
by Jean to their poorer relatives. 

Jean ran across the field and into the wood be¬ 
yond. Every now and then he would give a clear, 
high call and then he would stop and listen. Once 
there was an answering call and then he laughed 
and his thin little face with its funny dimple wrinkled 
with delight. 

‘‘I’m happy and that’s why the lark answered. 
They never do if I’m cross,” he thought, and began 
to sing: “Tra la la, tra la la! They’ll be here the 
day after to-morrow. I shall hide behind the poplar 
trees by the gate and see them drive in!” 

The way was long through the wood, which was 
part of the Saint Frere demesne, but it was beauti¬ 
ful and the air was cool and fragrant. After a 
while Jean began to run. It was fun to run in and 
out of the sweet greenness, always following the 
path which ended finally at a low stone paling. Jean 
could see, not far off, the towering arch of the great 
entrance way to the vast estate. He was never 
allowed to go in and out that way. He climbed the 
paling and ran across a field until he came to a dusty 
highway. He shuffled along the road, enjoying the 
thick clouds of dust that he raised about him. Little 
Mademoiselle would be coming in two days! He 
was on his way to his cousins—that was the only bit 
of blackness on his horizon. His cousins lived in 
one of a row of poor hovels situated some little way 


46 Red Caps and Lilies 

back from the roadside. Women sat in the rude 
doorways, glad of a breath of the fresh air. They 
were gaunt, sad-looking women, old long before their 
time because of years of heavy work in the fields, 
little food, and no rest at all. Children swarmed 
about the doorways and in the rough-looking stubble 
field beyond. 

Jean stopped before the next to the last hut, where 
a lanky boy in ragged clothes stood slouching against 
the doorway. He had a long, ugly face and he was 
so thin that he seemed nothing but bones and eyes. 
He snatched one of the loaves of bread from under 
Jean’s arm and began eating it, tearing at the end 
of it with his teeth. The second loaf and the towel 
fell to the ground as Jean caught the other end of 
the loaf that Grigge was devouring and pulled at 
it with all his might. 

“You shall not eat it all up. The others shall 
have their share,” he cried. But Grigge, who, in 
spite of his thinness, was stronger than Jean, being 
two years his senior and used to rough work, pulled 
himself away, bread and all, and went inside the 
hut. Jean turned around only to find his two 
younger cousins and the children next door fighting 
for the second loaf. He knew that there was noth¬ 
ing he could do to separate them or reason with 
them and so, having brought the bread, he could 
only leave them to fight it out. There were a dozen 
children now fighting for the loaf. Jean watched 


Jean 


47 


them for a moment and then turned back toward 
home. A voice called to him from the doorway 
in mocking tones. It was Grigge. He spoke be¬ 
tween mouthfuls. 

“You think you are very fine because you live 
with the gentry. You think you are a prince because 
you live within the gates!” 

Jean turned and shook his fists at him and then 
ran on. He was in no mood for a fight with his 
cousin just then. Little rosy clouds floated in the 
sky, the air was full of the scent of the warm earth 
and cool wind. Jean began to run. He ran on 
faster and faster. He liked to think that he was 
flying. He was going home to a bowl of hot soup 
and the comfort of his mother’s presence. 

As he ran through the wood, Jean began to feel 
very sorry indeed for his cousins. His mother was 
right. They had never had anything. He was 
sorry that he had not wanted to take them the 
bread. His mother’s cottage came into view as 
he reached the clearing in the wood. Mother Bar¬ 
bette was sitting on the doorstep knitting and the 
white deal table was drawn close to the door. 
When he came up to her he threw both arms around 
her and gave her a hug. 

“I am a good boy. I know I am, Petite Mere, 
because the lark answered when I called. It never 
does if I am naughty.” 

“Your soup is keeping hot over the fire. Dish 


48 


Red Caps and Lilies 

it out carefully into your own blue bowl. There 
is a piece of bread on the table. You may eat it 
with your soup here at the table by the door. The 
night is so fine that I could not stay inside.” 

“I would rather sit on the doorstep beside you, 
Petite Mere,” Jean answered, bringing his por¬ 
ringer of soup, and sitting down at his mother’s 
feet. 

He did not talk at all until he had finished his 
soup and bread, for he was very hungry. When 
he was finished he went in and peered inside the 
stock pot, but there was no more soup. 

“I am still hungry, Petite Mere. I want more 
bread,” he complained, coming to the door. 

“You cannot have any more bread to-day. You 
have had enough. Perhaps when the Little Made¬ 
moiselle comes she will give you a piece of white 
bread and fig jam,” returned his mother. 

Jean’s face brightened and he leaned against his 
mother’s shoulder. 

“You will make the jam for the big house again 
this year. Little Mademoiselle and I will watch 
and taste and then take some bread and jam to 
the woods for a picnic. We shall go to our favorite 
spot near the sundial. I love it best of all, Petite 
Mere. It is all dark and woodsy and then there 
is suddenly the open clearing and the sundial!” 
Jean began to hop about the low-ceilinged room, 
from one end to the other. He would have liked to 


Jean 49 

have jumped up on Mother Barbette’s treasure, her 
four-poster bed, but he did not dare to do so. 

“You are so young, Jean. Will you ever grow 
up? Ah, I cannot credit what Jacques told us, 
but it must be true. Those brave fellows from 
Provence marched all the way to Paris! Jacques 
left while they were storming the king’s palace! 
What times! What days!” Mother Barbette 
shook her head over her knitting. Then she re¬ 
marked to Jean, “Your cousins were thankful for 
the bread, I’ll wager!” 

Jean nodded vigorously. 

“They were as hungry as Wolf, the lodgekeeper’s 
dog, after he was lost for four days. They tore 
the bread to bits and all the other children came. 
They were fighting over one loaf when I came 
away.” 

Mother Barbette dropped her knitting in her lap 
and bowed her head. 

“Grigge was the worst of them all, Petite Mere. 
He snatched a whole loaf for himself and he taunted 
me again. Grigge is not my friend.” 

“He is always hungry, poor Grigge. He works 
all day at the olive mill for so little a pittance; it is 
no wonder that they starve.” Mother Barbette 
sighed as she spoke and Jean patted her cheek. 

“You are not to do that again, Petite Mere. You 
should smile because Little Mademoiselle is com¬ 
ing! I am going to find Dian and tell him the 
good news!” Jean made a dash at Pince Nez who 


50 


Red Caps and Lilies 

had alighted on the back of Mother Barbette’s 
chair. Then he ran with a whoop down the little 
box-bordered path, through a hedgelike opening into 
the forest, on through piney sweetness, through deep, 
dark arches of mingling boughs, on and on, until he 
came to a great sweep of sloping meadows. 

Jean saw the grey, moving mass of a flock of 
sheep in the distance, and he did not stop running 
until he had come up to them. Some one was walk¬ 
ing beside them, a tall man in a grey smock, his long, 
red locks falling about his shoulders. 

“Dian, Dian, they are coming to Les Vignes, the 
Little Mademoiselle and the other young ladies!” 
Jean cried. 

The shepherd smiled a slow, quiet smile. 

“Yes, I know that they are coming. I saw Jacques 
the runner. They are coming, but the young Comte 
Lisle remains in Paris with his mother,” he said. 

Jean skipped along beside the shepherd. They 
were great friends and it was always easy for him 
to talk to Dian. 

“I was very naughty to-day. I did not want to 
take the bread to Grigge and the others. I do not 
like Grigge. Why do you take your time to teach 
him to read and write, Dian? He is not at all a 
nice boy. He is like a wolf.” 

The shepherd had reached the sheepfold door, 
and he stood with both hands against it, ready to 
push it open. He paused at Jean’s words, uttering 
no reproach, but looking off across the field to where 


Jean 


51 


a delicate mist mingled with the startling beauty 
of the sunset sky. Jean stood watching him digging 
his bare toes into the soft earth. 

“Grigge will learn,” was Dian’s answer as he 
went inside the sheepfold. 


Chapter V 


INSIDE THE COACH 

The coach was so heavy that as it rolled along 
the quiet country road it made a noise like thunder. 
Clouds of dust rose on each side of it. The coach 
was gilded and on the panels were hand-painted 
pictures of cupids dancing. There had always been 
two men up on the high seat behind and two in 
front. Now there was only one man who was 
driving, and he was not really a coachman at all, 
but Neville, a footman of the Saint Freres’. He 
wore a dark livery and he was very intent on his 
driving. 

Marie Josephine leaned way out of the window 
and looked at him. Then she sat back on the blue 
velvet cushions of the coach so hard that she bounced 
up and down. 

“Neville looks so funny, so solemn and frown¬ 
ing!” She laughed as she spoke, but there was a 
little catch in her voice. They had always been 
taught to hide their feelings with a smile, and Marie 
Josephine knew that her grandfather would have 
been glad to hear her laugh. It had all been so 
strange and different early yesterday morning. 

52 




Inside the Coach 


53 


Prote had brought her her chocolate and petit pain 
and she had had her breakfast before she had been 
dressed. When she had come down to the great 
entrance hall her mother had been there, waiting. 
Lisle was there, too, and Hortense and Denise and 
Madame le Pont. The governess and the girls were 
ready for departure in their mantles and traveling 
hats. Maman had seemed different, though she 
wore, as usual, the mourning for grandfather, the 
diamond brooch that fastened her lace fichu, and 
her hair powdered and dressed high, like the queen’s. 
Maman had been different in spite of all these 
familiar things. She had held Marie Josephine’s 
hand as she had talked to the governess, giving di¬ 
rections in her quick, commanding way. 

‘‘There is, of course, not the slightest danger to 
the children. You will not have the least incon¬ 
venience, except that you will not have proper 
service, but I don’t trust the other men servants. 
There may come a time later on when it will not 
be so easy to get away. They may guard the gates 
if things get worse. I am glad to see you starting 
for Les Vignes.” 

While maman had been speaking the steady roar 
of cannonading never stopped. It had followed 
them a long way out of the city. They had even 
heard its faint ghostly murmur when they were 
lunching at an inn. Marie Josephine had not re¬ 
membered all that her mother had said, but she had 
sensed suddenly that there was danger. She had 


54 


Red Caps and Lilies 

thought over again and again of her mother’s re¬ 
mark: “There may come a time later on when it 
will not be so easy to get away. They may guard 
the gates if things get worse.” Maman had, as al¬ 
ways, thought of her as being young and unheeding, 
but she had been listening closely. The others had 
been talking amongst themselves and had not heard. 
Over and over the words came back to her: “There 
may come a time later on when it will not be so easy 
to get away.” 

Cecile du Monde was the only one who smiled 
when Marie Josephine spoke of Neville. She sat 
between Hortense and Denise, opposite Marie 
Josephine and the governess. It had been decided 
at the last moment that she was to come. She and 
her brother were distant connections of the De 
Soignes’ and the Marquis de Soigne had charge of 
their estates, which were far away in the southwest 
of France. They were orphans and spent most of 
their time with their Paris relatives. Madame de 
Soigne had refused to allow her own child to leave 
her at the hurried conference in the middle of the 
night, after the bal masque was hastily broken up. 
The sound of cannonading was heard, and alarming 
reports came in from all sides. It was like the 
Comtesse Saint Frere to act quickly. She had de¬ 
cided at once that the children, with the exception 
of Lisle, who refused to leave her, were to start at 
once for Pigeon Valley and had offered its hospi¬ 
tality to her friends. Madame de Soigne had ac- 


Inside the Coach 


55 


cepted first for Bertran, who was a troublesome, 
spoiled boy, of whom she was glad to be rid in the 
midst of such an anxious time. Then after a talk 
with Cecile, who felt that she should go with her 
brother who was younger than she, it had been ar¬ 
ranged that they should both accompany the Saint 
Frere children. As Lisle had told Marie Josephine 
it would be, Bertran rode with his servant. The 
sound of their horses’ hoofs could be heard faintly 
in the still midday air. 

Prote sat on a stool at Marie Josephine’s feet 
although there was plenty of room for her in the 
seats of the great, roomy coach. Ever since Marie 
Josephine could remember Prote had sat on the 
stool at her feet and held her treasures for her 
as she grew tired of them. Once it had been a large, 
gilded, blue glass vase, another time a miniature 
of her great-grandfather, and once a red silk shawl 
which she had held in her arms pretending it was 
a baby, cooing to it and singing to it. But all that 
had been, of course, when she was very young. The 
wooden Austrian doll, called Trudle, which her 
uncle had brought her from his journeyings, had al¬ 
ways accompanied her until this summer. Madame 
de Pont, even in the midst of her worry, noticed 
Trudle’s absence and said: 

“Where, cherie, is the little friend Trudle?” 

Marie Josephine shrugged her shoulders. 

“You are like the others, Madame. You think 
of me always as a baby, just a baby. Dolls, dolls— 


56 


Red Caps and Lilies 

why I am done with them!” This time they all 
laughed, even Prote, who would not have dared 
to do so had they been accompanied by Madame 
Saint Frere! She knew well that Trudle was safe 
in the packing box, on top of the coach! 

Flambeau rested his nose on the ledge of the coach 
window and looked out yearningly at a fragrant 
stretch of green meadow. His eyes followed the 
sudden flight of birds from the branch of a great 
poplar as they thundered by it. 

At lunch time a very small inn seemed to grow 
suddenly out of the ground as they turned a bend in 
the road. It was painted green and seemed a part 
of the rich August countryside. Neville stopped the 
horses, climbed down from the box, and bowing, held 
his hat in his hand, as he spoke to Madame le Pont: 

“If it is your pleasure, Madame, I think you and 
the young ladies can find refreshment here. There 
is a sign which says that meals are served.” 

Madame and the girls looked out and exclaimed 
in astonishment: 

“The old mill!” 

Neville had opened the coach door while he was 
speaking and Flambeau and Marie Josephine 
jumped out. The others followed after a moment, 
and they all stood in a group looking across at the 
odd-shaped, mill-like structure that stood a little 
way back from the road, with its sign, “Food for 
Travelers,” swaying in the light summer breeze. 
A year ago it had been just an old mill, grey and 


Inside the Coach 


57 


gaunt in the midst of its green setting of great 
oaks. The governess turned to Neville uncertainly. 

“You are sure that it is wise to come here? It 
seems odd finding the old mill so unexpectedly!” 

“Let us stay for dejeuner. Oh, it’s a dear place, 
as quaint as can be!” put in Denise, and Neville 
answered: 

“I think it is wiser than to go to a village inn. I 
am taking the long route to avoid the villages. That 
was the order of Madame la Comtesse. There is 
no real danger, of course, in the villages, but just 
now Madame felt justly that one cannot be over 
careful.” 

Madame le Pont nodded in assent. “We will 
remain here for dejeuner, Neville.” 

A tall, dark young woman served them with good 
soup, an excellent omelette, and some grapes, at a 
table covered with a clean, white cloth, on the 
greensward facing the forest. She stayed by while 
they ate, asking with a curtsy every now and then, 
if there was anything more that they wished, or 
anything special that she could procure for them. 
She was particularly kind to Flambeau, cutting his 
meat nicely and putting it in a blue saucer by the 
lunch table. Marie Josephine was so pleased at 
this that she went up to the woman after they had 
finished lunch and said: 

“Flambeau wants to thank you for his dejeuner. 
He is very tired of the journey and will be glad 
when we are home at Les Vignes.” 


58 


Red Caps and Lilies 

The young woman, who had said her name was 
Paulette, smiled kindly and seemed interested. 

“Pigeon Valley is indeed beautiful, Little Made¬ 
moiselle. The other young ladies, are they your 
sisters?” 

“A sister and a cousin and a friend.” Marie 
Josephine smiled happily at the dark woman who 
was patting Flambeau’s head. 

Just at that moment Bertran du Monde came 
galloping up to the queer mill-inn, with his servant 
riding behind him. 

“The young gentleman would be your brother I 
suppose, little lady?” the woman asked as she 
turned toward the inn. 

“That boy is not my brother. My brother is in 
Paris with maman,” Marie Josephine answered a 
little indignantly, but the woman was walking away 
and did not seem to have heard her. Marie Jose¬ 
phine was not used to speaking to strangers, but 
the dark young woman had been very kind to 
Flambeau. 

Bertran was very hungry and he was cross be¬ 
cause he had to wait for his omelette. He was a 
very fat boy indeed, but he rode well and was not 
in the least tired. When Madame le Pont sug¬ 
gested his coming into the coach for a while and 
letting his servant lead his horse, he said, “Ride in 
the stuffy coach and hear the girls chattering! No, 
I will not, Madame!” 

They left him sitting at the table, waited on by 


Inside the Coach 


59 


his servant. A stone in his horse’s shoe had been 
the cause of their arriving after the others. It was 
thought best for the coach to start on as it could 
not make such good time, and so they waved their 
hands at Bertran and rumbled on toward the forest. 
Two people in the coach did not wave. They were 
Madame le Pont and Marie Josephine. The latter 
was more than ever out of sorts with Bertran. It 
had come over her suddenly that it was indeed 
Bertran and not Lisle who was with them. So, 
when he had answered Madame about the coach, she 
had said to him, “It is not you we want in the coach, 
Bertran. It is some one else.” He had answered, 
sitting down at his dejeuner as he spoke: 

“Is that so, Mademoiselle Spitfire! Well, 1 shall 
do as I like. When I wish to ride inside I shall do 
so, and when I don’t, I won’t!” Then he had gone 
on calmly with his omelette. 

They thundered into the forest and its spicy frag¬ 
rance greeted them. The air was cool there, and the 
dim wood paths seemed like fairy paths to Marie 
Josephine. It was so peaceful that it made them 
all think of Pigeon Valley. They grew more cheer¬ 
ful right away, and even Madame le Pont remarked 
that it was delightful to think of seeing Les Vignes 
again. She had purchased some fruit at the inn and 
Denise held a bunch of amber-colored grapes high 
above Cecile’s head and said, “Bite one!” Madame 
le Pont remarked, “That is not the way a young 


60 


Red Caps and Lilies 

lady conducts herself!” but she did not seem to be 
really shocked at all. 

Hortense yawned and put her head back on the 
cushions, her curls falling about her shoulders. 

“You look like a little girl to-day, Hortense. I 
thought you looked such a very grand young lady 
when you danced the minuet with Lisle the night 
before last.” They were still driving through the 
woods and every now and then a startled bird would 
make a great stir in the trees or underbrush as 
they dashed along. Marie Josephine did not realize 
what she had said at first, but when they all turned 
and looked at her and Denise exclaimed: “When 
you saw her dancing with Lisle! What do you 
mean, Marie Josephine? You were not at the ball 1” 
she knew how stupid she had been and the telltale 
color flew to her cheeks. 

“How could you have seen me dance at the ball 
when you were fast asleep in bed?” put in Hortense. 

Cecile looked straight at Marie Josephine and 
suddenly she guessed. She knew that Rosanne had 
been hiding in the balcony. There was a twinkle in 
her blue eyes as she looked at Marie Josephine, but 
she would not have told her suspicions for anything 
in the world. 

“You are blushing. You have done some¬ 
thing very naughty. I am sure of it!” Denise said 
this with a relish. She was tired, and she had al¬ 
ways had a habit of keeping persistently at a 


Inside the Coach 61 

subject. She and Marie Josephine did not get on 
very well. 

“Tell me what you meant when you said that 
about Hortense dancing at the ball, Marie Jose¬ 
phine,” she persisted. 

Marie Josephine’s eyes began to twinkle, too. 
She settled back comfortably against the pillows and 
called Flambeau’s attention to some black baby pigs 
which a woman in a scarlet petticoat was feeding 
at a moss-covered wooden trough. Denise kept her 
eyes on Marie Josephine, who held Flambeau’s paws 
as the dog looked interestedly at the pigs. Marie 
Josephine knew that Prote, who still sat on the little 
stool at her feet, was shaking in her shoes. It would 
be fun to tell in spite of the consequences, if it were 
not for Prote and for Rosanne! 

“You dare not look me in the eyes and say that 
you did not go to the ball,” persisted Denise, who 
was becoming more and more interested and excited. 
She had not at first really believed that her sister 
had gone to the ball and had kept on the subject 
because she felt in a teasing mood, but Marie Jose¬ 
phine’s telltale color betrayed her and Prote’s look 
of horror confirmed her suspicions. 

“Prote helped you, I know she did. Tell me, 
Prote, did you not aid Mademoiselle to go to the 
De Soignes’ to see the ball?” 

Denise, to do her justice, would not have kept 
up with the subject had their mother, the comtesse, 
been with them, but none of them were very much 


62 


Red Caps and Lilies 

in awe of Madame le Pont. There was no need 
for Marie Josephine to reply for Prote clasped her 
hands and exclaimed: 

“Heaven be with us! I meant no harm. It 
was so wrong for Little Mademoiselle to have none 
of the pleasure!” 

All eyes were turned toward Madame le Pont 
who, to their unbounded surprise, did not seem in 
any way as horrified as they had expected! She 
looked at Marie Josephine and then at the others 
and said: 

“After all, now that so many things are happen¬ 
ing, what does it matter!” 

Could it be true ! Their governess saying, “What 
does it matter!” Madame le Pont, who, in spite 
of her being more indulgent than the governesses 
of their friends, had always been so fond of the 
conventions! She did not even seem to realize what 
Marie Josephine had done, and she said nothing at 
all to Prote, who sat looking the picture of fright 
and despair! Denise was so surprised at the atti¬ 
tude of the governess that she whispered to Cecile 
under cover of the rumbling of the coach: 

“Le Pont is in a dream, surely, but I am glad. 
I was excited and didn’t realize what a scrape 
they would be in!” 

Years later Marie Josephine remembered the 
incident; in fact she never really forgot it. There 
were times when she could shut her eyes and see, 
in that uncanny way in which we do see long-ago 



Le Pont 





















































































Inside the Coach 


63 


things, the old coach, the faded coat of arms that 
had not been regilded that summer, the old blue 
lining, the warm August sun streaming in, bringing 
with it the odor of freshly cut hay and oats, thin 
rows of poplars rising against the startling blue of 
the sky, and the peasant women bending over their 
work in the field beyond. She could see Denise’s 
astonished gaze, from under her lace hood. She al¬ 
ways remembered the words and the whole incident 
because it was the beginning of the great change. 
Madame le Pont was right. Things that had mat¬ 
tered so much were beginning to be not so im¬ 
portant. There would be a time when they would 
not matter at all. 


Chapter VI 


AUGUST TENTH, 1792 

Lisle and his mother had finished their dejeuner 
in the great dining room of the Paris house. The 
tall, gilded clock in the entrance hall had just struck 
twelve. All through the meal the cannons in the 
Carrousel, the inner court of the Tuileries palace, 
less than a mile away, had thundered outside. The 
glass chandelier above the table had shaken until its 
chains, jangling together, made a sound like music 
in the dim, vast room. The amber-colored velvet 
curtains at the windows were drawn closely together 
and the room was lighted by four candles in gold 
candlesticks on the table. 

Lisle piled his nutshells in a heap on his plate. He 
had something to tell his mother and he did not 
know how to go about it. There was a dish of fruit 
on the table, as well as a carved bowl full of nuts 
and a carafe of wine and one of water, and even a 
bowl of flowers, a few red roses which Henri had 
picked that morning from the vine by the coach 
house. The comtesse leaned forward and picked 
one from the white bowl and held it to her face. 
Then she said what she had been thinking all through 
the meal: 


64 


August Tenth , 1792 65 

“Nothing would matter if only you had gone with 
the others, Lisle. Why did I let you stay!” 

“Because you knew that I would not go!” Lisle 
answered. 

She looked at him and he returned her look 
steadily. 

“I’m not a child any longer. I’m fifteen and a 
half and the head of the house,” he went on. “I’ve 
stayed to see Paris now. I want to see what 
happens.” 

The comtesse put both hands over her eyes and 
sat that way for a moment. It was as though she 
would shut out all the confusion and worry of the 
past weeks and months, especially of the last two 
days. 

Within twenty-four hours five of the men servants 
had left without a word. Some of them left because 
they were frightened, for it was beginning to be 
thought not so good a thing to be a servant in a great 
house. It was not the loss of her servants that mat¬ 
tered so much. It was the fact that they were her 
enemies, and that, with the exception of those who 
had gone to Pigeon Valley, there was only one re¬ 
maining whom she could trust—and that was Henri, 
one of the footmen. 

“Pardon, Madame, you asked for fresh news from 
the Tuileries. It is going hard with the Swiss guards. 
They made a brave stand but they are losing badly, 
Madame. They cannot resist the people, above all 
the Marseillais!” 


66 


Red Caps and Lilies 

It was Henri who spoke. They had not heard 
him cross the great room. 

“The Marseillais are fighting well?’ , It was 
Lisle who put the question. 

“Like tigers, Monsieur Lisle,” the servant an¬ 
swered. He was a little, dark man. His voice 
shook as he spoke and his face was white above his 
red and gold livery. 

“The royal family—they are safe?” Madame 
Saint Frere twisted her lace-bordered handkerchief 
between her long, white hands as she asked the 
question, but her voice did not tremble. 

“Henri cannot know what is going on inside the 
palace or the Carrousel, maman. He can only glean 
wild rumors from the crowds in the side streets,” 
Lisle said a little contemptuously. 

“Pardon, Monsieur Lisle, but a runner came 
through and shouted news at the Town Hall. The 
royal family have taken refuge in the riding school 
with the National Assembly. They went through 
the gardens.” 

Henri waited, and, as the two did not question 
him again, he left the room as quietly as he had 
entered it. 

The comtesse reread a note that lay beside her 
plate. It was from Monsieur Laurent, Lisle’s tutor, 
and it stated in polite terms that he had left that 
morning for England, having had a sudden oppor¬ 
tunity to get away. His departure seemed unbear¬ 
able to the comtesse. Now that Laurent had gone, 


August Tenth, 1792 67 

there were no other men that she could count on at 
all. She had a brother who was an invalid and some 
cousins who were preparing to fight with the 
Royalists but they were not in Paris at the moment. 
The Comte de Soigne was away fighting. It seemed 
as though every kind of protection had left her. 
Things were happening so suddenly, one after an¬ 
other, and although one could not believe that there 
could be any real danger for any of her family, 
she would have given much, as she said, to have had 
her only son safe at Pigeon Valley. 

“Promise me, Lisle, that you will not go out into 
the garden,” she said. 

“I cannot promise that, maman. I’ll not be 
cooped up in the house. You are fretting about 
that stupid Laurent. I for one am glad he is gone. 
I never want to see his smirking face again.” Lisle 
leaned forward and spoke earnestly. “You must 
trust yourself to me, maman. I told you the girls 
should be sent at once to the country, and you see 
that I was right. Whatever happens at the Tuile- 
ries, it is only a question of time until the Austrian 
army comes and our own royalist armies are ready.” 
Lisle looked so earnestly at his mother and spoke so 
confidently that the comtesse smiled in spite of her¬ 
self and returned his look with one of pride. 

“Maman, I don’t trust Henri,” Lisle continued, 
speaking softly. “He does not really mean us harm, 
I think, but he is from Provence and the Marseillais 
are from Provence. They are proving themselves 


68 


Red Caps and Lilies 

to be brave soldiers. Henri, once he is in the crowd, 
will be heart and soul with them. You will see!” 

As Lisle spoke the tapestry at the far door 
swayed back and Henri came into the room. 

“Madame la Comtesse de Soigne is here to see 
Madame,” he said. 

Lisle walked with his mother to the salon door, 
but did not go inside. As Henri opened the door, 
Lisle saw his mother’s friend cross the room and 
come toward her. Rosanne stood near the door 
and made a curtsy as his mother entered. Lisle 
waited until Henri had left the hall and then went 
through the marble vestibule, opened the great, 
grilled door, which was the front entrance, and went 
outside. Gonfleur was waiting by the door. Lisle 
went up to the old man. 

“Gonfleur,” he said to him, “you are the only one 
I can trust. There is not one of our servants who 
is true to us, now that Neville has gone.” 

Gonfleur bowed and answered: “I am only an 
old man, Monsieur Lisle, but there is nothing I 
would not do for the family. Madame de Soigne 
knows that well. She is in trouble, is Madame la 
Comtesse.” He did not say more, so Lisle turned 
away and went inside to the great drawing-room. 
His mother and Madame de Soigne were sitting on 
a velvet chaise longue at one end of the room and 
talking earnestly. Long mirrors reached to the 
ceiling on each side of the room. The rose carpet 
was of velvet and sank under Lisle’s feet as he 


69 


August Tenth, 1792 

crossed over to his mother. There were gilded 
tables and chairs and carved cabinets filled with jew¬ 
eled trinkets. The hangings at the long windows 
were of rose brocade. 

Lisle came up to the chaise longue and bowed cere¬ 
moniously to the comtesse and to Rosanne, who 
stood close to her mother. Madame de Soigne was 
to leave Paris at once, they told him. She had just 
had word that her husband, who was with the Roy¬ 
alists, had been wounded and she could not stay away 
from him another hour. Gonfleur would accompany 
her and Madame Saint Frere was to keep Rosanne 
safe with her. The Comte de Soigne was in a hos¬ 
pital near Valmy. 

“It would have been well, Madame, had you 
allowed Rosanne to accompany my sisters and the 
others to Les Vignes.” Lisle spoke coldly; but when 
the comtesse answered, with tears in her eyes, that 
she had not dreamed of all that twenty-four hours 
would bring forth, he said simply, “I will care for 
Rosanne as though she were my little sister.” Then 
he went out of the room. 

There was no one in the great hall, and going into 
an anteroom he took down his black velvet cape and 
cap and went out through the great entrance door, 
closing it after him. He ran quickly down the mar¬ 
ble steps, and, after standing a moment uncertainly 
on the corner, turned to the right and walked toward 
the Champs Elysees. 

It was a strange walk, the first one he had ever 


70 


Red Caps and Lilies 

taken alone in the city. He had always been accom¬ 
panied by his tutor or a servant. Boys of noble birth 
did not go out unattended. It was the strangest day 
that he had ever known. A wild exhileration seized 
him and he began to run. He had felt this way be¬ 
fore when he had ridden to the hounds, when he had 
run at top speed across the fields at Les Vignes, but 
to-day it was as though he had never really known 
emotion. The thunder of the cannonading at the 
Tuileries pounded through the great avenue. As he 
came nearer a black sea of people loomed before 
him. The deafening roar of the guns, the screams 
of the wounded, the wild shouting from thousands 
of throats mingled, making a hurricane of sound. 
He stopped suddenly, a little bewildered, and seeing 
there would be no chance of going farther on the 
avenue he turned off and round down a side street, 
slackening his steps as he came to the rue Royale. 

Here the noise was greater, but although the 
street was filled with people, some leaning out of 
the windows of shops, others shouting from the roof 
tops, he was able to make his way for some rods. 
No one noticed him. He was only a drop in a 
mighty ocean, only one among millions that tenth 
day of August, 1792! 

There was a noisy crowd of excited onlookers on 
top of a coach just beside him and the owner of 
the coach, a prosperous spinner, who had drunk 
deeply of Rhenish wine, was the noisiest of them 
all. He caught sight of Lisle, who was wedged in 


August Tenth, 1792 71 

between a group of taller people, and cried out to 
him : 

“Come up and see the show, my fine fellow!” 

It was the first time that any one in all the wild 
city had spoken to him. He jumped up on to the 
coach and stood there with the spinner and his 
family. The next instant he forgot everything but 
the sight before his eyes. 

There was a group of people close to the cart. 
One could hear their rough voices and harsh cries 
above the seething roar of the battle in the great 
square beyond. Their scarlet caps gleamed in the 
relentless August sunshine. They held on to the 
sides of the cart, screaming, “Vive la nation!” and 
throwing their arms about each other in a sort of 
frenzy. It was such as they who were to make a 
part of the mob that was soon to govern Paris. 

Far at the end of the Place du Carrousel grena¬ 
diers, pikemen, and gendarmes lay dead and dying. 
Floating mists of smoke drifted with the sudden, 
freakish changing of the wind, and through it all 
the battle cry of “Death or Liberty” floated back 
to the watching thousands in the Champs Elysees 
gardens and in the surrounding streets. 

“The Marseillais have the Cour Royale!” was 
the word passed from lip to lip, and then the cry of 
“Vive la Nation” swelled like the storm tide of a sea. 

“The Swiss have given way! The Swiss can no 
longer stand!” 

This last cry roused Lisle as he stood on the spin- 


72 Red Caps and Lilies 

ner’s cart, and the meaning of it caught his heart. 
The gallant Swiss guard who had fought, like the 
brave fellows that they were, to guard the palace 
and the royal family—the Swiss were vanquished! 

“The men of the Faubourg de Gloire have the 
Cour des Princes! Hurrah for the Faubourg de 
Gloire!’’ Again a mighty roar shook the very roofs 
of the houses. 

Another court of the palace had fallen! 

The sun caught the bronze of the cannons in the 
square and they flashed like scarlet fire through the 
iron-grey smoke clouds. 

“The men of the Faubourg Saint-Marceau have 
taken over the Cour des Suisses!” 

The last court of the Tuileries was in the hands 
of the people. 

Lisle stood still in the sunshine watching the end 
of all that had made up his life. He was too young 
and inexperienced to realize very much beyond the 
things that he had always known, quiet cherishing 
of old traditions handed down, riches, beauty, un¬ 
thinking narrowness. His king and queen were in 
hiding in the back confines of the Tuileries. The 
great palace itself was given over to the people who 
had taken it with bayonet and gun. The roar of 
the cannons and of the thousands of voices meant a 
good-by to the old ways. Lisle stood there like a 
statue, his hands clenched at his sides, tears stinging 
his eyelids, his gold hair ablaze in the sun. Then, 


August Tenth, 1792 73 

suddenly, almost without knowing it, he raised his 
voice and cried with all his might: 

“God save King Louis!” 

He had hardly cried the last word before he was 
seized from the cart and half dragged, half carried 
at a swift pace down a side street off the rue Royale, 
opposite which the cart had been standing. His 
captor turned a corner swiftly, and then another, 
and puffing and gasping for breath, he finally pushed 
Lisle under a gabled doorway where they could not 
be seen from the street. Lisle’s blue eyes flashed 
fire into quiet brown ones. His captor was a short, 
fat man in a snuff-colored cloak and wide hat. He 
had a round, kindly face and, in spite of the situa¬ 
tion, he was smiling. 

“Take your hand off me. You are not to touch 
me!” 

Lisle was so angry that he spoke with difficulty 
and his companion was so blown that he could only 
puff and pant. He looked furtively around the 
arched doorway of the deserted shop. 

“I was quick and no one shall say tha’ Humphrey 
Trail canna run when the devil is close,” he said, 
as though to himself. Still holding Lisle firmly by 
the arm, he turned and smiled at him again, in no 
way disturbed by the boy’s haughty face and flashing 
eyes. 

“Not so fast, my young gentleman, not so fast.” 
As he spoke Humphrey Trail pushed Lisle back a 
little farther into the shadow. His hold was gentle 


74 


Red Caps and Lilies 

but firm. “Tha hast a rare bright face. I’d not 
thought tha’d sell tha life so easy there on the cart. 
Hast tha no sense that tha calls ‘Long live the king’ 
with them beside tha that would cut tha throat?” 

Lisle tugged at Humphrey’s arm with both hands. 
He was still so angry that he could scarcely speak. 
After a moment he called out again, “God save King 
Louis,” and smiled mockingly at Humphrey Trail. 

His captor seemed in no way put out by the cry, 
for the side street was deserted and there was no 
one to see or hear them. 

“Tha would do well to stop tha foolishness and 
listen to sense. Tha cannot help tha king by tha 
shouting. Hark to me, lad, and ponder well what 
I say. This is the greatest day that France has ever 
known. Mark me, lad, this is a day of brave deeds 
and clean fighting. Days will come so black that 
the country will never lose its shame o’ them; but 
to-day the Marseillais have fought for the love o’ 
nation, and they have fought well.” Humphrey 
still held Lisle as he spoke but loosened his grasp 
when Lisle said: 

“There is no need to hold me, for I shall not run 
away from you. There is no harm in you, except 
that you are meddlesome. You say the Marseillais 
fought bravely. Well, the Swiss guards fought 
better! Even our servant, Henri, who is from Prov¬ 
ence, spoke of their bravery!” There was a choke 
in Lisle’s voice, though he tried to swallow it. It 
did not escape Humphrey Trail. 



Humphrey Trail 








































75 


August Tenth, 1792 

“Not so fast again, young lad. I but meddled, 
as tha calls it, to save tha life!” he said, and, meeting 
Lisle’s flashing eyes with his kindly ones, he smiled. 

Lisle held out his hand. “I believe you, Hum¬ 
phrey Trail, and I thank you. Know that I am 
grateful.” 

Humphrey shook Lisle’s hand warmly. 

“Th’art no fool that tha remembered my name 
from my sayin it that once. Tha speaks English 
as well and maybe better than I who was born on 
a Yorkshire moor,” he said. 

Lisle looked at him curiously. “You come from 
England—from Yorkshire! Why are you here?” 

“I’d many a bit o’ gold coin saved from my 
shearin’ and sheep sellin’. I wanted to see things 
about the world, to go to foreign parts where there 
wasn’t just milkin’ and farmin’. I wanted to see a 
bit o’ life, and I am seein’ it and likely to see more.” 
Humphrey laughed as he spoke and Lisle laughed, 
too. All anger toward his rescuer had gone, 
although he still resented being thought stupid for 
having shouted for the king, and being carried off 
by this funny, fat farmer in such an unceremonious 
way. 

Humphrey Trail caught hold of his arm and said: 

“Haste tha home, young lad. Keep within tha 
doors for a spell o’ days till things settle a bit. If 
it please tha, I’ll see tha to tha door!” 

“Thank you, Humphrey Trail, I have no fear of 
being on the streets. I can go my way quite well 


76 


Red Caps and Lilies 

alone. I cannot promise you to stay within doors 
but, though I shall always shout for my king, I will 
not forget your advice entirely.” Lisle held out his 
hand and the farmer shook it again warmly, saying: 

“Good-by to thee, lad.” 

He watched Lisle as he walked on down the 
narrow street and he muttered to himself, “Th’ lad, 
th’ proud, odd lad!” 

Toward the end of the narrow lanelike street 
Lisle paused, hesitated, turned back a step or two, 
paused again, and then went straight on without 
looking back. Humphrey noticed the action. The 
boy had something he wanted to say to him. 

“Th’ lad would ask a favor o’ me but his pride 
put it by him. He wants a friend and there maybe 
is no one else.” As this thought came to him, Hum¬ 
phrey Trail threw the cape of his coat about his 
shoulder and walked rapidly in the direction Lisle 
had taken. He never lost sight of him. Lisle walked 
straight ahead and did not once look back. He had 
lost his velvet cap in the affair of the cart and he 
walked on hatless, unafraid, his hair, a sweep of 
blazing gold, tied at the back of his neck with a 
flaring black bow. Humphrey’s heart almost failed 
him as he watched Lisle. It was well indeed for 
the boy that this tenth of August was not a day for 
any one person. It was a day of great issues and 
the time had not yet come for individuals! It was 
a day of wild excitement, of gallantry and courage! 
Humphrey Trail had spoken rightly when he had 


77 


August Tenth, 1792 

said that it would be the bravest and the best day 
of all. Those who guarded the Royal family in the 
Tuileries had fought like the chivalrous knights that 
they were. There were never more valorous soldiers 
than the red-coated Swiss guards who held their 
places for the king until they could no longer stand. 
On the other side, there were never cleaner, braver 
men than those gay, unfearing men of the Marseil¬ 
lais battalion, who had marched for weeks, through 
every kind of weather, to fight for liberty in Paris, 
and who died singing their beloved Marseillaise 
with their last breath, 

“L’amour sacree de la patrie!” 

Lisle reached his home in safety and, turning in 
at the iron gates, ran up the marble steps and pulled 
a silk rope at the side of the grilled iron door. He 
heard the bell clang through the great house. The 
door was opened at once by Henri, who gazed at 
him with a white face and gasped out: 

“Monsieur Lisle, Madame, your mother, is beside 
herself in fear for you!” 

When Humphrey saw the great doors close after 
Lisle he turned and walked rapidly away. He knew 
where the lad lived and he would not forget the 
house. 

Lisle was met at the door of the first salon by 
his mother, who caught him by both shoulders, rais¬ 
ing a pale, frightened face to his. 

“You have been out alone in all this rabble, you 


78 


Red Caps and Lilies 

who are only a child.” She caught her breath with 
a sob as she spoke. 

“I have been out, but I am not a child, maman, 
and I have made a friend all by myself, without any 
help from the family.” Lisle smiled at his mother. 
“I have made a friend in Paris to-day, and his name 
is such an odd one, maman. It is Humphrey 
Trail!” 


Chapter VII 


AT LES VIGNES 

“Mother Barbette is making fig jam and Nan- 
nette has given me some croissants. Jean and I will 
take a little bowl of the jam with us and we will 
have a picnic in the woods!” 

Marie Josephine announced this from the foot 
of the wide granite steps leading to the terrace at 
Ees Vignes. Hortense sat under a wide-spreading 
oak tree at the right of the steps. She was doing a 
piece of tapestry for a fire screen, weaving the glow¬ 
ing colors, crimson, orange, and blue, in and out, 
and every now and then holding her work in front 
of her, surveying it critically. 

“You are such a baby, Marie Josephine, thinking 
always of silly plays with that infant, Jean. Why 
do you not bring your embroidery and sit here with 
Cecile and me under the tree. You promised maman 
that you would finish the shawl of Great-aunt Hor¬ 
tense so that she could have it when the cold days 
come. Her house at Saint Germain is so chilly!” 
Hortense shook out her silks as she spoke, holding 
them so that the sunlight flickered through them. 

“Bother Great-aunt Hortense! She always fusses 
and frets about something and maman is so in awe 
79 


80 


Red Caps and Lilies 

of her. We treat her as though she were the queen. 
I hate sewing when the sun shines like this. I don’t 
like it any time. I tried to embroider one rainy day 
when Jean and I listened to one of Dian’s stories in 
Mother Barbette’s cottage but I could only think of 
the story!” 

Cecile du Monde, who came walking slowly along 
a garden path, laughed at Marie Josephine’s last 
words, but Hortense frowned. 

“You are too old to be so silly. You’ll be thirteen 
in November. We may have to stay here at Les 
Vignes for a year or even longer before we can go 
back to Paris. I should think you would want to 
begin to learn to be a young lady, Marie Josephine!” 

“Name of a name, Hortense, do not preach so 
much!” Marie Josephine returned crossly, but 
smiled the next moment at her cousin’s horrified 
expression. 

“That is dreadful. You are talking like a peasant. 
It is because you go so much to Mother Barbette’s 
cottage. She is a good woman but it will not do for 
you to pick up expressions of the people!” Hor¬ 
tense frowned again and turning to Cecile, who 
came and stood at the back of her chair, she said 
to her: “I wish that Le Pont had some authority 
over Marie Josephine. She has none at all!” 

“Bother!” put in Marie Josephine. “Come, 
Flambeau!” she called as the dog bounded toward 
her up the terrace steps. She patted his head while 
she looked across at her cousin. 


81 


At Les Vignes 

“You are not really a prig, Hortense, but you do 
sound like one sometimes. None of us are as nice 
as Mother Barbette and we never can be—none of 
us, except Lisle,” she said. 

Cecile held a great sheaf of white and gold lilies 
in her arms. Their sweetness blew about the girls 
in the gentle wind. It was hot, with a hazy, sleepy 
heat of mid-September. It was a little over a month 
since they had come to Les Vignes. 

“Don’t squabble, girls. See these beauties. I am 
going to give some to old Martin for the supper 
table to-night. It is so warm we could almost have 
supper out of doors,” Cecile said, sitting down on 
a low chair beside Hortense. 

“Why do you say almost, Cecile! Of course, we 
shall have supper outside to-night, of course we 
shall! There comes Le Pont now. I’m going to 
run and ask her. She must say ‘Yes,’ for it will be 
a wonderful evening!” 

Marie Josephine called this over her shoulder as 
she ran to meet the governess who was coming 
toward them down the terrace steps. She caught 
Madame le Pont’s hands in both of hers and swung 
them back and forth, and the kindly, worried face 
of the little woman brightened. 

“It is the most beautiful day in all the world, 
Le Pont. It is a fairy day. Jean says that the birds 
and flowers talk to him right here in the Les Vignes 
woods when it is like this!” 

“You are happy. That is well, little one. Yes, it 


82 


Red Caps and Lilies 

is like the long ago days at Fontainebleau that I 
remember so well. We used to hunt in the forest.” 
Madame le Pont sighed as she spoke and, taking 
Marie Josephine’s hand, walked with her toward the 
others. 

“Cheer up, Le Pont dear, and do say that we may 
have supper on the terrace, for we have set our 
hearts on it, all of us, even old lady Hortense!” 
coaxed Marie Josephine as Hortense and Cecile rose 
to give the governess a chair. 

“Sit here please, Madame. I will walk a little 
way with Marie Josephine, who is going to Madame 
Barbette’s cottage,” said Cecile, putting her arm 
about Marie Josephine and holding the lilies across 
her shoulder with her other hand. “Wait for me 
one moment while I give these lilies to Martin, 
cherie. May I tell him, Madame, that we may have 
supper on the terrace?” Cecile turned toward 
Madame le Pont as she spoke. 

The governess nodded, smiling a little sadly. 

“Yes, of course, if it pleases you, children, and 
if the night air is not too chill,” she answered as she 
sat down in Cecile’s chair beside Hortense, her satin 
bag of work in her hand. 

“Tell Martin to put on the candelabra with the 
gold shade!” Marie Josephine called after Cecile 
as she went up the terrace steps, and her friend 
looked back over her shoulder, smiling assent. 

A few minutes later the two girls were walking 
through the forest in the demesne at Les Vignes, 



Cecile 



























83 


At Les Vignes 

their arms about each other. They wore long, full 
summer dresses of fine, sprigged Indian muslin, 
which blew about them in the soft breeze. Cecile 
had on a garden hat, which she had t : ed under her 
chin with a pink bow, but Marie Josephine swung 
her hat back and forth by its black velvet streamers. 
She would not have gone so far as to carry one if 
she had not known that Hortense and the governess 
would have been shocked at her going about without 
a hat. 

“I think that Neville will come to-night, Marie 
Josephine, perhaps by sundown. Think of it, news 
of them all, news of Lisle !” Cecile bowed her head 
suddenly, almost as though she were praying. 

“We will be so glad to see Neville that we will 
not know what to do. If I see him coming down 
the drive, I shall run and run until I come up to him. 
He will have messages from maman and Lisle and 
Rosanne. Perhaps he will bring word that they are 
on the way to us!” Marie Josephine put out her 
hand to pat Flambeau, who was walking beside them. 

“It is a fortnight since he went. He should have 
returned before this. It is not more than a good 
two days’ ride with a fast horse and Neville rides 
well. I hope so much that he comes to-night, Marie 
Josephine. Cherie, we left in the midst of so much 
and we have heard nothing since. I wish that we 
were not so far away from everything,” Cecile 
answered. 

“You are worrying, Cecile, and you are not to do 


84 


Red Caps and Lilies 

that. Try and be like Bertran and Denise, who 
ride and dance and never seem to give a thought to 
Paris. We are better off than if we were near a 
town. Jacques, the runner, told Mother Barbette 
so. Pie said we were well out of all the jamboree, 
but—oh, I know what you mean, cherie; we want 
news of Lisle!” 

Cecile stopped in the middle of the pathway and 
kissed Marie Josephine on each cheek. 

“I’ll go back now and sit with the others under 
the oak tree. Sometimes I am envious of little Jean 
because he has you for a comrade more than I.” 
Cecile was smiling as she spoke, but Marie Josephine 
felt that she was in earnest. 

“If only you would come with us sometimes to 
the woods. We know of so many pretty places and 
we have such jolly times,” she said. 

Cecile turned and waved as she started back down 
the forest path and Marie Josephine, after waving 
in return, ran on through the dark archways of the 
trees. When she came to a clearing in the wood she 
saw Mother Barbette’s little red cottage with the 
smoke rising in zigzag fashion from its chimney. 
She ran up the one-stone doorstep into the low, dark 
room. There by her deal table was Mother Barbette 
and there, close beside her, licking a big iron spoon, 
was Jean. A row of jars stood on the table and 
Mother Barbette was covering them neatly with 
white paper when Marie Josephine ran up to her. 

“I tried not to make any noise so that you would 


At Les Vignes 85 

be surprised,” she cried, throwing both arms around 
Mother Barbette and kissing her rosy cheek. 

“Little Mademoiselle, you are welcome. I have 
a nice little jar of jam for you and Jean, and, if I 
mistake not, the kind Nannette has given you some 
of her bread to eat with it!” Madame Barbette 
beamed on Marie Josephine as she spoke, wiping 
her hands on her clean white apron. 

Jean put the spoon in the empty stock pot in which 
the jam had been cooked and which was still hanging 
on the iron crane. Then he ran over to his little 
bed of oat straw in a far corner of the room and 
drew out something from under the pillow. He 
wore his black smock which did not show the dirt 
and his black locks flapped about his face. He was 
full of delight at the thought of a long afternoon 
in the woods with his Little Mademoiselle. 

Jean chatted happily as he walked beside his 
friend through the dark wood aisles. Now and 
again the sun would shine down in startling, golden 
showers of shifting light. It was harvest time and 
the scent of newly cut wheat blended with the spicy 
fragrance of the forest. As they walked they 
crushed wild thyme and lavender under their feet 
and the sweetness of the flowers was all about them. 
Jean kept glancing at Marie Josephine a little tim¬ 
idly. She did not seem quite the same and he could 
not make it out. He knew that she never ceased to 
think of her brother Lisle in Paris and that she was 
wildly impatient for the coming of Neville with 


86 


Red Caps and Lilies 

news. They were to have had such a delightful 
afternoon in the woods, but she did not say anything 
when he skipped beside her, talking of what they 
would do. They had talked over all that had hap¬ 
pened while she had been away, of the firelight 
stories Dian had told him and his mother, of the 
Paris peddler who had stayed three days in Mother 
Barbette’s cottage during a heavy snowstorm and 
who had told them all the news of the city. Jean 
had taken Marie Josephine to see the oven he had 
built for her in one of their favorite nooks and they 
had roasted potatoes in it. She had seemed to love 
it all just as usual, this dear country of Les Vignes, 
but to-day she was different. 

It was an afternoon of bronze leaves and sunshine, 
of the noisy drowsiness of wood creatures, and of 
the brooding splendor of September. When Marie 
Josephine looked back at it she always thought of 
sunshine between black clouds. 

“Shall we not have our bread and jam by the 
sundial, Little Mademoiselle?” Jean asked her as 
they turned down a path strewn with brown and gold 
pine needles. 

“Yes, that will be splendid,” she answered, and 
then turning, called over her shoulder: “Flambeau, 
where are you? We are going to the place you love 
the best of all, the sundial!” She swung her hat by 
its ribbons, throwing it up in the air and catching 
it now and then. She had gathered her curls to- 


At Les Vignes 87 

gether into a dark coil, which bobbed over her 
shoulders as she walked. 

“Dian is going to show us the three baby lambs 
to-morrow. Do you love Dian, Little Mademoi¬ 
selle?” Jean asked, leaping along beside her, for 
she had begun to run. 

She nodded and when she sank down at last on a 
bank of moss she smiled and nodded again. 

“I love Dian because grandfather thought so 
much of him. He once said, ‘Some people in this 
world are different and Dian is one of them!’ That 
is the reason that we love to hear his stories!” 

They sat facing the sundial. There was no place 
that they loved so well as this quiet nook in the 
heart of a dense wood. No one really knew exactly 
how the sundial came to be there. The story was 
that an ancestor had wished to be alone with time 
and had had this place made for himself, where he 
used to spend long hours writing who knows what, 
perhaps verses, soliloquies, essays. At any rate, the 
sundial still stood in the heart of the wood and the 
gardener kept the brush from growing too close to it. 

“You have not told me one fairy story since you 
came this time,” Jean reproached his friend as he 
opened the little green basket and brought out the 
jam and the croissants. 

“I told you of the noises of Paris and how I lay 
awake and listened to them, of how Rosanne and I 
went to the fancy dress ball and hid in the balcony 
and watched the others dance. I told you about 


88 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the funny cafe in the old green mill and the dark 
woman who made us the omelette. Why do you 
want fairy stories when real things are so won¬ 
derful!” 

Jean looked so meek and contrite as he sat there 
on the moss bank like a little brown gnome, that 
Marie Josephine laughed out loud. Jean was her 
good comrade and dear friend, but she loved to tease 
him. 

“Let us talk about Neville while we eat the crois¬ 
sants and jam. I can just picture him riding in 
through the gates. You and I will run to meet him, 
Jean. He will be covered with dust because he has 
ridden so fast. He will have a big packet of letters 
in his pocket for us all and he will bring news of 
maman and Lisle. Oh, perhaps he will bring word 
that they are coming soon.” Marie Josephine 
clasped her hands together in her earnestness. Then 
she took a bite of the croissants and jam and said 
something to Jean which so surprised him that he 
sat bolt upright on the moss and stared at her. 

“I wish you weren’t such a very little boy, Jean. 
I wish you were old enough to plan and do things, 
and that you knew about something besides squirrels 
and jam and playing in the woods!” 

Jean’s eyes snapped and his lips trembled. 

“I am not a baby, Little Mademoiselle, truly I’m 
not,” he answered, but, as though in contradiction 
of his words, two big tears rolled down his cheeks. 

Marie Josephine jumped up and came and sat 


89 


At Les Vignes 

down beside him, leaning back so that her hand 
rested on the grey stone base of the sundial. A field 
rabbit popped out from a clump of hedges near 
them, twinkled his ears, and vanished into the under¬ 
brush. Jean smiled through his tears, and wiped his 
eyes with his jacket. 

“I didn’t mean to be unkind. You can’t help 
being young, of course, only you don’t seem to wake 
up.” Marie Josephine leaned toward him eagerly 
as she spoke. “I can’t express what I mean. They 
all think I’m a baby, too, at Les Vignes—Le Pont 
and Hortense, all of them except Cecile—but I think 
more than they do and I know things that they don’t 
know, things about which grandfather thought and 
told me. You and I have always been such friends 
and I know I can tell you anything. There is some- 

thing that I may have to do sometime- Oh, I 

don’t know, probably not, but if I should do this 
thing, you are the only one who will know!” 

Jean’s tears disappeared. He smiled at his friend, 
and nodded his head vigorously when she asked, 
“You’ll stand by me and keep my secret if I tell you 
what I may do, won’t you?” 

“You may trust me always, Little Mademoiselle. 
We are, as you say, great friends. We have had 
many good times together,” he went on wistfully. 
“You do not forget me even in the great city.” 

“Of course I do not, stupide! What if one day 
we should have an adventure, you and I! What if 



90 Red Caps and Lilies 

we should be in great peril and have all sorts of 
thrilling escapes!” 

“They did in the old days,” put in Jean eagerly. 
“They were always being rescued. You know how 
it is in some of Dian’s stories!” 

Marie Josephine stood up. 

“It must be time to go and meet Dian. We never 
want to miss that. See how the shadows have 
lengthened. Come, Jean!” 

Jean picked up the little green basket and they 
went on through a long, straight wood path, looking 
back every now and then at the grey sundial in its 
patch of light. 

“The sundial looks lonely, does it not? It has 
no friends but us!” Jean exclaimed, waving his hand 
at it. 

“You are a dear, funny boy, Jean, my little 
brother. Come, let’s run!” As she spoke Marie 
Josephine caught hold of Jean’s hand and they fairly 
flew along the path, out into the great, wide, sweep¬ 
ing meadows. They ran on down a long lane, past 
the great barns, pausing at the last one to gaze inside 
where the sun sifting in on the grain made a glowing 
picture of grey and gold. They watched the great 
sieves, hung between poles, bending backward and 
forward, winnowing the grain from the chaff. Then 
they went on more slowly down the lane and, turn¬ 
ing to the right, they saw suddenly the vast country¬ 
side and in the distance a slowly moving grey mass 
which was really the sheep coming home from pas- 


91 


At Les Vignes 

ture. They waved their hands at a tall figure walk¬ 
ing with the sheep and ran toward it, through the 
fields. The air was luminous. There were flecks 
of gold in the sky. It was like flying through space, 
this running across the meadows to meet Dian and 
his sheep. 

“Isn’t it good, Dian! Isn’t this a fairy evening?” 
Marie Josephine called happily as they came up to 
the shepherd. Dian answered with a slow smile : 

“It is good indeed, Little Mademoiselle. There 
is nothing in the wide world so good as a meadow 
at sunset.” Indeed, as he walked through the tufted 
meadow grass in his grey smock, his tall figure out¬ 
lined against the gleaming stacks of wheat, he him¬ 
self seemed a part of the radiant evening. 

Flambeau walked gingerly over the uneven 
ground, his eyes and ears alert for field rabbits. 
Jean and Marie Josephine walked one on each side 
of the shepherd. 

“Jean and I had our gouter by the sundial. I’ve 
been talking to him about growing up. He is so 
young! He thinks of nothing but the woods and 
birds. He knows nothing of all that is happening 
in the world!” As Marie Josephine spoke, Dian 
turned toward her, smiling his slow, sweet smile. 

“It is well that he does not know too much. This 
is good for him to know, just this,” the shepherd 
said, as he looked about him at the pasture lands 
with the grey sheepfold beyond, the deepening rose 


92 Red Caps and Lilies 

of the sky, and the zigzagging grey mass of sheep 
before them. 

“It is good, Dian,” Marie Josephine laughed up 
at him. “I am so happy now, and this afternoon I 
was so sad.” 

They had come to the sheepfold paling and Jean 
ran forward to help Dian open the great door. Vif, 
the sheep dog, ran around and around barking his 
orders vigorously and scolding the lagging ones 
who wanted just one more nibble of the sweet grass 
before being closed in for the night. 

“The cigales have stopped buzzing, so that means 
summer is gone, doesn’t it, Dian?” asked Jean as 
they pushed back the gate together. 

“Yes, and it means that the green crickets will 
be here soon, harvest will be over, and winter will 
come.” As he spoke the shepherd looked off at the 
horizon, and a look not so much of sadness as of 
great seriousness came into his face. 

“I must run back, for it is time for Prote to dress 
me for supper. We are going to have it outdoors 
to-night as a treat.” Marie Josephine looked wist¬ 
fully at Jean as she spoke. She would have so en¬ 
joyed his company at the evening meal under the 
stars, out on the wide terrace, but Jean did not seem 
to be at all envious of the outdoor supper at Les 
Vignes. 

“You are to come to see us to-night, Dian. You 
shall have some of the new fig jam,” Jean called 
over his shoulder to the shepherd. Then as he went 


At Les Vignes 93 

on through the wood with Marie Josephine he said 
happily: 

“Mother will set the little table out under the big 
pine by the red well if I ask her to!” 

“You will have a picnic, too, and I would rather 
go to it than to ours. Good-bye, Jean, until to-mor¬ 
row.” Marie Josephine was off like a flash toward 
the great house which loomed before them as they 
made a sudden turning in the wood path. 

She ran in at the stone lion-guarded entrance door, 
up a great flight of stone stairs, and into a big room 
on the right at the top of the stairs. Prote stood 
by the window looking out, but on seeing her little 
charge she came forward hurriedly. 

“Martin says supper must be early because of the 
nights getting cold. It was Madame le Pont’s 
order. You must wear something warm over your 
frock. That was her order, too.” While she spoke 
Prote brushed out Marie Josephine’s curls in front 
of a long, gilded mirror which hung back of the 
dressing table. There were two silver candleholders 
which held lighted candles, one on each side of the 
glass. Marie Josephine smiled at Prote’s face in 
the mirror. 

“I’ll wear Great-aunt Hortense’s shawl, you 
know the one she gave me to keep until I’m grown¬ 
up. Let’s talk about the bal masque, Prote. Wasn’t 
it splendid of Rosanne to come for me that way with 
Gonfleur! I want to see Rosanne. I’ve so many 
things to tell her!” 


94 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“It may be, Little Mademoiselle, that she will 
have a great many things to tell you!” Prote’s round 
face looked solemn as she spoke. Marie Josephine 
looked at her more seriously in the looking-glass. 

“Yes,” she answered slowly. “Yes, of course, I 
suppose she will. She is in Paris. Doesn’t it seem 
strange, Prote, when it’s so sweet and quiet here in 
Pigeon Valley, to think of Paris?” 

Prote shrugged her shoulders and raised both 
hands, hairbrush and all. 

“It is best not to think of it at all,” she said. 

“I must think of it, Prote. Maman is there and 
Lisle. Do you think Neville will come in a few days, 
Prote? Do say that you do!” 

“God grant it, Little Mademoiselle!” Prote an¬ 
swered. 

They all smiled at Marie Josephine when she 
appeared ready for the outdoor supper with Great- 
aunt Hortense’s shawl over her white dress. It was 
a scarlet crepe shawl, heavily embroidered in white 
fleur de lys, and it was so long that it almost com¬ 
pletely covered her. She threw one end of it around 
her shoulder and walked majestically down the 
terrace steps. 

“You did that well, Marie Josephine. It was 
quite like mother’s Spanish friend at the opera,” 
Bertran du Monde said to her, taking her arm and 
bowing mockingly as they went toward the supper 
table. This was unusual praise from Bertran, who 
generally quarreled with her. 


95 


At Les Vignes 

“You think you can make me believe that you 
were ever allowed to go to your aunt’s box at the 
opera at night!” returned Marie Josephine. It was 
something she had wanted so very much to do 
herself. 

“I have been several times. Is that not so, 
Cecile?” Bertran answered, appealing to his sister, 
who had just come up to them with Madame le 
Pont and Hortense. 

Cecile nodded smilingly. 

It was a merry supper party, for somehow every¬ 
one seemed to be in good humor. Bertran pretended 
to be quite overcome at being the only gentleman 
among so many grand ladies. He sat at the foot 
of the table and Hortense at the head. She was 
lovely in rose-dotted silk, her wide skirts fluttering 
about her in the light wind, a fichu of thread lace 
fastened at her breast. Cecile was lovely, too, in 
her pale green, her golden hair dressed high as she 
had worn it at the bal masque. Denise and Marie 
Josephine sat one on each side of the governess, 
both in white except for the gorgeous red of Marie’s 
shawl. Bertran had changed from his riding clothes 
into blue velvet trunks and waistcoat. His stiff black 
hair was fastened with a huge black velvet bow. 
The buckles on his velvet slippers sparkled like 
diamonds. They all laughed at him because he had 
put a black patch over his left eyebrow in imitation 
of a grown-up man-about-town. His face was so 
round and fat and he looked so young that such a 


96 


Red Caps and Lilies 

very grown-up affair as a patch amused them all, 
especially Marie Josephine. 

“We all know you are fourteen and that you will 
not be a Grand Seigneur for a great many years.” 
Marie Josephine smiled sweetly across at Bertran 
as she spoke and emphasized great. 

“Is that so, Mademoiselle Spitfire,” Bertran an¬ 
swered, helping himself to salad as old Martin 
passed it to him. He spoke good-naturedly. 

There was a wide silver candelabra in the center 
of the table, covered with a gold-colored silk shade. 
The delicate dishes and the silver flashed in the soft 
light. Above them the stars twinkled a good eve¬ 
ning and a big, round September moon looked down. 

“Is there no news of Neville, Martin?” Madame 
le Pont asked the old butler as he removed the cloth 
and put some silver dishes of nuts and a green bowl 
full of purple grapes on the table. 

“No news, Madame, but it is early yet to-night,” 
Martin answered. 

“I would not worry so much, Madame. It is 
bad traveling now and you know Neville may not 
have been able to get fresh mounts,” Bertran said 
to the governess with his most grown-up air. 

“Do let us talk of something else. I’m so tired of 
having some one ask every five minutes if there is 
news of Neville,” Denise said. 

Madame le Pont broke a bunch of grapes on her 
plate and ate one slowly. “We must hope for the 
best,” she said and they all laughed. 


97 


At Les Vignes 

“You always say that Le Pont, darling, you 
know.” Marie Josephine put her hand caressingly 
on the governess’s arm as she spoke. 

“I threw pennies to the hovel children outside the 
gates as Denise and I rode through the demesne. 
It was fun to see them grabbing in the dust for them. 
One of them, a tall, lanky boy, fairly wallowed in 
dust! I tell you, Madame, I laughed to see them, 
and wished I had more pennies for them,” Bertran 
said to the governess. 

“There is no town where they can buy things, 
but when the bailiff comes to oversee, he will give 
them bread if they have money, poor things,” 
Madame le Pont answered. 

Marie Josephine sat silently looking up at the 
stars for a moment. It was Grigge of whom Bertran 
had spoken, Grigge who was Jean’s cousin. 

Martin had poured some sparkling yellow wine 
into the tall, thin glasses and Bertran stood up 
suddenly. 

“To His Majesty, King Louis of France,” he 
said. 

The others rose to their feet and said, “His 
Majesty the King.” Then they drank a little of 
the wine and sat down again. 

They did not see that some one was coming 
slowly from the dark shrubbery at the side of the 
terrace. Martin saw him first and dropped a dish 
of apricots. Then the children and Madame le 
Pont all saw him at once, as he came up to the table. 


98 


Red Caps and Lilies 

He was a bearded man in ragged clothes, a red cap 
on his head. They all sat perfectly still watching 
him, not one of them cried out. It was Bertran who 
spoke first. He stood up and faced the man. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” 

The man did not answer and Bertran said: 

“Leave the presence of the ladies at once or I 
shall call the men on the place.” Bertran was 
frightened, but did his best to make his voice manly 
and convincing. 

Suddenly Marie Josephine jumped up from the 
table, and ran up to the stranger. 

“Why, don’t you know him? It’s Neville!” she 
cried. There was a half sob in her voice. Neville 
had come back. How was it that the others had not 
recognized him? She had known him by his eyes 
at once. 

He spoke and then they all knew him. Bowing 
to the governess, he said: 

“Your pardon, Madame, but unless I came in 
this disguise there was no way for me to come at 
all. I did not change before seeing you because it 
is best that you note well my disguise so that you 
will all know me again.” 

His voice trembled and he sank on to a chair which 
old Martin pushed forward. 

“Martin, bread and hot soup at once! The man 
is famished and exhausted. Bertran, pour some 
wine. There, that is well.” The governess came 
to Neville’s side and held the wine to his lips. 



Bertran 













































































































































































































































































































































































































































At Les Vignes 99 

Martin went for food and the others, filled with 
concern and interest, came up close to Neville. 

When he could speak, Neville looked at Madame 
le Pont and said faintly: 

“I would see you alone, Madame!” 

Then it seemed as though they all spoke at once, 
crowding up to his chair. 

“No, no, Neville, tell us also. Tell us all there 
is to know!” 

“Tell us that maman and Lisle are well and safe.” 
Marie Josephine put her arm on Neville’s ragged 
coat as she spoke. 

“Safe,” he answered. “Safe enough so far and 
there seems to be no real danger for them yet, but 
the city—ah, Madame, the city!” 

“Yes, yes, tell us. What of the city?” It was 
the governess who spoke. 

“Marat has control of everything. They have 
taken twenty thousand stand of arms from the homes 
of royalists and most of the royalists who could 
escape have done so, but now the city gates are 
closely guarded. The comtesse and Monsieur 
Lisle will not leave because, for one reason, your 
great-aunt, the Marquise du Ganne, is old and ail¬ 
ing. She cannot escape, and they could not leave 
her in the city as it is now. More than that, we see 
no way for them to escape, even if it should be that 
Madame du Ganne should not live!” 

Neville fumbled in his pocket. 

“I have a letter to you all from Madame la 


100 Red Caps and Lilies 

Comtesse and there is a note for Little Made¬ 
moiselle from Monsieur Lisle. It was not really 
safe to bring them but I took the risk.” 

He brought out the two notes, handing one to 
Madame le Pont and the other to Marie Josephine, 
who caught it and held it close to her heart, the red 
shawl falling to the ground at her feet unheeded. 
She opened it and read: 

To My Sister Marie Josephine: Maman and 
I are deeply interested in the progress of our royalist 
armies and the good news that Austria has promised 
aid. This troublesome time is but for the moment. We 
are very comfortable with Henri to take care of us. How 
is Flambeau? My respects to Madame and the girls and 
greetings to Dian. See to it that you are patient and 
unafraid. 

My love to you. 

Lisle Georges Montfleur Saint Frere. 

Postscript . Tell Dian I will have some stories to 
match his one day. 

As Marie Josephine stood there under the stars, 
the letter clasped in her hands, the words that her 
mother had spoken on the morning that they had 
left for Les Vignes came back to her: “There may 
come a time later on when it will not be so easy to 
get away!” 


Chapter VIII 


HUMPHREY TRAIL 
“Minuit!” 

A little girl peered through the gloom of a dark 
alley, toward the rue Saint Antoine. Her thin, 
eager face looked anxious and her black eyes darted 
here and there in search of him who until very re¬ 
cently had been her best friend in all the world, 
Minuit, an alley cat! 

“It’s time to go to bed, ma mie. Come to Vivi,” 
she called again and suddenly from out of the grey¬ 
ness of the deserted alley, a gaunt, long shape ap¬ 
peared. It was Minuit and when he saw Vivi he 
ran up to her with a welcoming meow. She stooped 
and gathered him into her arms, hugging him close 
to her. 

“I’ve been alone all day, for the fat, funny man 
told me I’d best stay inside to-day. He will be 
coming soon with my supper.” While she was 
speaking she was making her way back to an open 
door through which a faint light was gleaming. She 
was so used to being alone with Minuit that she 
found it natural to talk to him as though he were 
a person. 


101 


102 


Red Caps and Lilies 

A jangle of rough voices came down the alley 
from the shoemaker’s shop on the corner of the rue 
Sainte Antoine. Vivi was not at all frightened of 
the voices or their owners, for she knew them. 
They had been friends of her father and he would 
have been with them, talking far into the night, had 
he not been killed the summer before by some pieces 
of lumber from the big pavilion falling on him. The 
pavilion had been erected after the storming of the 
Tuileries and he had been one of hundreds who had 
offered to help put it up. He was a licorice water 
seller by profession and all that he had left Vivi of 
worldly goods was his tin tray and the cups dangling 
from it. She hoped to make some sous in the spring 
selling the cooling drink in the streets. Now that 
the cold weather had come, no one was thirsty 
enough to drink licorice water, and if it had not 
been for the fat, foreign stranger, who had taken 
the room above her and who never failed to bring 
her something to eat when he came in at night, 
she would have had to go down the alley to beg a 
bit of bread from the shoemaker. 

She went through the open door, climbed a short 
flight of rickety stairs, and opened a door at the 
right of the first landing. The room she entered 
was small and bare. There was a cot in one corner 
covered with a piece of sacking, a deal table close 
to a tiny, rude fireplace, and a chair. Some pieces 
of a broken box lay on the floor near the fireplace. 
Vivi went over to the cot and put Minuit down on 


103 


Humphrey Trail 

it. Then she went over to the cupboard and threw 
open its rickety door. There was nothing at all to 
eat in the cupboard and Vivi made a face at it. 
She had never heard of Mother Hubbard, but she 
must have felt very much like her as she saw the 
bare boards and heard Minuit’s entreating meow. 

“Never mind, Minuit, the fat man will bring us 
something to eat. Let us go to sleep under the sack¬ 
ing until he comes.” She picked Minuit up in her 
arms as she spoke and going to the cot, curled up on 
it under the sacking. Before she knew it, she and 
her purring friend were fast asleep. 

Vivi was awakened by a loud scrambling of rats. 
She could hear them fighting and chasing each other 
through the wall as she sat up on the cot and rubbed 
her eyes. She jumped up and, drawing the cot 
close to the dusty window with its small jagged 
corner of broken glass, leaned forward so that she 
could see down the alley as far as the rue Saint 
Antoine at the end of it. She did not have to wait 
very long before she saw a short, stout figure in a 
long cloak and wide hat coming toward her through 
the dusk. 

It was the figure of Humphrey Trail, or “the fat, 
funny man,” as Vivi spoke of him to Minuit. He 
gave a little knock on the door and came in, bring¬ 
ing a rush of cold wind with him. He had a bundle 
in his arms and going over to the table he put it 
down, yawned, and looked at Vivi. She came slowly 
toward him, trying not to look too eagerly at the 


104 


Red Caps and Lilies 

table. Her rough black hair flapped about her 
face as she pulled up a chair for him. When he 
had sat down in it, she jumped up on the table 
beside him. 

“I told Minuit you would bring something,” she 
said, smiling at him. He smiled back at her, open¬ 
ing the bundle which was done up in brown paper. 

“Food we shall have, tha and I and tha friend 
th’ cat,” said Humphrey, tearing off the paper and 
bringing forth its contents, a loaf of bread and a 
hunk of cheese. He felt in his pocket and drawing 
out his big jackknife, cut a generous slice of the 
bread and a good supply of cheese. He put the 
cheese astride the bread and handed it to his little 
friend with a bow. 

Vivi nodded her gratitude. She was too busy 
taking big bites out of the bread and cheese to thank 
Humphrey in words. He was well pleased at her 
enjoyment of the simple meal and took his own 
share with a relish. Minuit was not forgotten 
either and ate his portion greedily. Humphrey 
spoke to him apologetically. 

“Tha shall have tha dish o’ milk one day when 
milk is easier got, beastie,” he said. Minuit, who 
had not tasted milk since the days of his infancy, 
did not seem to be at all put out because of the 
present lack of the beverage. He jumped up on to 
the table beside Vivi and began to lick his paws. 
Humphrey Trail balanced himself uncomfortably 
on the rickety chair as he ate his supper. He had 


105 


Humphrey Trail 

had only a bowl of hot soup in a small cafe on the 
rue Royale at noon, and he was as hungry as his two 
companions. As he ate he thought deeply and 
hardly heeded Vivi when she went over to the cot. 
His French was so limited that they could only hold 
brief conversations. 

Minuit gave Humphrey’s arm a soft bump with 
his head to remind him that he was holding an un¬ 
eaten bit of cheese in his hand. Humphrey gave 
him the cheese, accompanied by a pat on the head. 
Then he relapsed into thoughtfulness again. He sat 
a long time at the deal table with his plump, round 
face propped up on his two hands. He was think¬ 
ing of Lisle Saint Frere and of the great house where 
he lived and of all that had passed since he had 
snatched the boy from the spinner’s cart, when he 
had called out, “God save King Louis!” What 
awful things had happened in Paris since that night 
of the tenth of August when the gallant Marseillais 
had stormed the Tuileries and awakened Paris to 
action! Ah, that had been a great day for the peo¬ 
ple ! They were worth-while men, those Marseillais 
who had cheered their long march across France 
with their own songs, who had come in their sim¬ 
plicity and valor to avenge their wrongs, to start 
a new era of liberty for the people, but who had 
not known, alas! that innocent people would so 
cruelly suffer, that Paris would go mad. 

He had made his decision to remain in Paris on 
that August night, as he paced up and down his 


106 


Red Caps and Lilies 

room at the Croix d’Or. He would stay on, even 
if his staying might mean his death. His heart 
bled for the people of France who had been starved 
and taxed and unjustly treated for centuries and he 
had rejoiced when he heard the new song of liberty 
shouted in the streets: 

“Allons enfants de la patrie, 

Le jour de gloire est arrive!” 

Humphrey would have answered, if any one had 
asked him, that he had remained in France to “see 
the fun,” but this was not so. There was Vivi, who 
depended on him for her daily bread, and there was 
some one else who might need his help also. He 
knew in his own mind that it was greatly because 
of this some one else that he had decided to stay. 
The some one else was Lisle. 

Humphrey roused himself and got up, wrapped 
the bread and cheese carefully in brown paper, and, 
going over to the cupboard, put them on a shelf. 
It made him happy to supply food for little Vivi. 
He had come across her in a strange way. He had 
witnessed the accident at the pavilion which had 
caused the death of her father. The poor man had 
been selling his licorice water when the timbers from 
the pavilion fell on him. While some one went to 
get a cart in which to take him to a hospital, 
Humphrey held the man in his arms and spoke to 
him in his poor French. Afterward he had visited 
him at the hospital, and just before the man died, 


107 


Humphrey Trail 

promised to look after his little girl. Humphrey 
had picked up the man’s tray and tin cups and given 
them to Vivi. He moved into the attic room above 
hers, so as to be able to look after her. His good 
action proved a safeguard to himself, for all 
foreigners at inns were being questioned and put 
under suspicion, and his days at the Croix d’Or 
would have been numbered had he remained. 

Humphrey had sat down again at the table and he 
remained there for a long time, deep in thought. 
Suddenly he was startled by sounds of wild laughter 
and shouting from the rue Saint Antoine, as groups 
of citizens danced by. They were shouting a new 
and terrible song: 

“Dansons la Carmagnole, 

Vive le son du canon!” 

Humphrey stood up, wrapped his snuff-colored 
cloak about him, and picking up his wide hat, went 
out, closing the door softly behind him. He made 
his way through the alley to the noisy rue Saint 
Antoine and went on swiftly through the dark, 
wintry streets. Everywhere were hurrying masses 
of people. Snatches of the “fa Ira,” the favorite 
song of the crowds, could be heard on all sides and 
wild, dark faces under scarlet caps peered out of 
the gloom. He turned in at a brightly lighted 
shop on the rue Royale. It was the bakery shop 
where he had bought for Vivi the first cake that she 
had ever eaten. Now he wanted to buy her another. 


108 


Red Caps and Lilies 

On the first days of his visit to the great city, 
Humphrey had come to this bakery several times, 
in order to indulge in his love for sweets. It had 
once been very fashionable. Less than a year be¬ 
fore, it had been filled with smart lackeys, who car¬ 
ried charming boxes of maroons or candied grapes 
to their ladies’ sedan chairs. Now no such finery 
was seen. Instead the shop was patronized by 
honest farmer people from the country and rich 
merchants of the city who were heart and soul in 
sympathy with the revolution, never dreaming that 
their turn to suffer was coming soon. 

The baker woman still sold her neat rows of 
cherry tarts. On the wooden gallery above, talka¬ 
tive groups drank their eau citron and enjoyed the 
good cakes. Humphrey eyed the pile of puffy 
brioche set out on a tray next to a gleaming pile of 
fruit confits, and he wondered what to buy for Vivi. 
He felt guilty in buying anything but bread, but he 
could not resist the pleasure he would be giving 
Vivi, who had never had any sweets in all her life. 
Humphrey admired Vivi because she had been so 
brave when her father died, and because she could 
smile when she was hungry! 

As he stood there undecided, the shop door 
opened with a clang, and turning his head, Hum¬ 
phrey saw a boy enter and stand near him at the 
counter. After a moment, he realized that it was 
Lisle. He wore a shabby black suit which had evi¬ 
dently belonged to a groom, his locks were tied back 


109 


Humphrey Trail 

with a bit of black tape, and the cap which he held 
in his hands was a dismal, ragged one. He was 
evidently attempting a disguise, but it was a poor 
one, and when Humphrey heard him ask the woman 
for the cakes, his heart sank. Lisle’s attempt to 
change his voice was more futile than his attempt to 
change his garb. 

“I want a cake for a little girl, citizen, something 
simple but very good,” Lisle said to the bakery 
woman. 

“You want a cake, do you!” she waved her hand 
above a tray of cream pastries, surrounded by green 
“cauliflowers” of almond flavor. Her black eyes 
took in his appearance as she cried her wares. 
“Here are tartlets, choufleur. Choose what you 
will!” 

Humphrey felt an odd mixture of emotion as he 
stood there with his back to Lisle. Lisle was a large 
part of his adventure, and his chief reason for stay¬ 
ing on in Paris. He had never forgotten the sight 
of the boy on top of the spinner’s cart, waving his 
cap and shouting for the king. He had been sent 
to be his friend. The little incident that occurred 
when he had let Lisle go his way, after he had res¬ 
cued him, had made him sure of it. He had watched 
Lisle and seen him stop and start back, then pause 
uncertainly and go on again. Something in the ac¬ 
tion touched Humphrey’s big heart. The boy had 
needed his counsel, but his pride and independence 
had forbidden his asking it. Since then Humphrey 


110 


Red Caps and Lilies 

had gone each night and stood for an hour in the 
shadow of the wall at the side of the great house of 
the Saint Freres. 

“What cakes will you choose? My time is not 
forever at your disposal,” the bakery woman said 
impatiently. 

Lisle regarded the cakes soberly. 

“I want something simple for a little girl,” he 
repeated. 

“I have just the thing, a plain sponge with white 
icing. You shall see.” 

The woman moved away to reach the cakes at 
the back of a shelf just behind her. Lisle turned 
round and, seeing Humphrey Trail, at once gave 
him a smile of greeting. Humphrey made no sign 
of recognition. The woman returned with the cakes 
saying: 

“They are three sous apiece. How many?” 

Lisle answered, “I wish to have three.” He put 
his hand in the pocket of his rough over-jacket and, 
drawing forth some coins, counted out the desired 
amount and handed it to the woman. When she had 
given him the small package he went out. Without 
waiting to buy his cake, Humphrey Trail followed 
him. 

Humphrey was angry as he walked out of the 
bakery shop. They were a little in awe of him at 
home in the farmlands when his easy-going temper 
was aroused. He came up to Lisle and spoke to 
him without ceremony. 


Ill 


Humphrey Trail 

“Th’ art mad, lad, I tell thee, to buy cakes at a 
shop where spies eat and there are eyes in every 
corner. Th’ art a poor fool at play actin’ with tha 
soft speech and ways. Get tha home and, for tha 
mother’s sake, stay within tha house!” 

They had walked slowly along the crowded rue 
Royale. Lisle turned and looked at his companion 
and suddenly he smiled. 

“I like you, Humphrey Trail,” he said. 

Humphrey felt his temper cooling, and as they 
turned into a quieter street he slackened his pace. 
Nothing could have happened more timely than 
Humphrey’s losing his temper. Had there been any 
vestige of suspicion as to Humphrey’s sincerity in 
Lisle’s mind, it vanished forever with his honest 
scolding. 

“I like tha well myself, lad, but see that tha ken 
sense with tha manly ways,” Humphrey said in 
answer. 

“It is the first time I have been there, Humphrey 
Trail. Our friend, Rosanne de Soigne, is staying 
with my mother and me. I was buying cakes for 
her.” 

“Th’ little girl can do well without sweets these 
sad days if it will save her life,” he answered. As 
he spoke a deep sense of responsibility fell on him 
and then he felt a warm glow of thankfulness that 
the boy trusted him and was confiding in him. 

They had reached the Saint Frere house and Lisle 
turned and held out his hand. 


112 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“I have been glad of your company, Humphrey 
Trail. I know you are honest, and just now there 
is no one else in all Paris whom I can trust.” 

“Tha can trust me, lad, that tha can. Can tha 
remember the name of my lodging? Listen well. It 
is in the Impasse Forne, just off the rue Saint 
Antoine, the fourth turn to the right from the corner 
where the women are making waste for the guns. 
Tha cannot fail to find it and any message sent there 
will reach me. I shall not be far and I shall be ready 
to serve tha well.” 

Humphrey shook Lisle’s hand warmly there in 
the shadow of the great house. 

‘‘In all Paris, you are my only friend, Humphrey 
Trail,” Lisle answered. 


Chapter IX 


DIAN 

Dian the shepherd was always welcome at 
Mother Barbette’s fire. He sat before it on a chilly 
December afternoon, warming his hands at a piled- 
up heap of briskly-burning fagots. Jean had gath¬ 
ered them during the autumn months, and they were 
stacked in neat piles in the back of the room. Rows 
of onions were strung on lines along the ceiling, and 
there were bowls of good fig jam on a shelf by the 
door. Mother Barbette was prepared for what she 
felt would be a hard winter. 

She was making a stew for supper and she was 
wishing that it might have been a good one. She 
peered into the stock pot above the fire and sighed. 
It was not a savory mixture that met her eyes. The 
stew was made mostly of hot water and pieces of 
bread, to which she had added a cup of milk, some 
salt, and a bit of garlic. She had eaten the stew all 
her life, but always before she had had a piece of 
veal or pork to add to it. 

Dian the shepherd sniffed the stew delightedly. 

“It’s good to know that there will soon be food,” 
he said. He often shared the Barbettes’ supper and 
113 


114 


Red Caps and Lilies 

sometimes brought them meat which he obtained 
from a near-by farmer in exchange for some of the 
cheese for which he himself was famous. He never 
ate meat but seemed content always with a cup of 
milk and a piece of bread. 

“You are always of good heart and seem content 
with anything that comes your way, Dian.” Mother 
Barbette poured some soup into a blue bowl as she 
spoke and handed it to the shepherd. He took it, 
bowing his head over it and closing his eyes for a 
moment. Then he ate it slowly, the firelight playing 
on his long, straggling, red locks and work-worn 
hands and lighting up his earnest, bronzed face. 

“There’s a quietness about you, Dian. You are 
one of few words, but, if I mistake not, you think 
more than the most of us,” Mother Barbette con¬ 
tinued. She sat down on a stool by the fire and 
began to mend Jean’s little coat. 

“There will be snow soon,” the shepherd gave 
answer. He ate his stew slowly, for he was thinking 
deeply. He did not notice that Jean had come into 
the room until the boy came close to the fire. Then 
he made room for him on the settle. 

“Tell us a good tale, please, Dian,” pleaded Jean, 
snuggling up to the shepherd, for the cold wind blew 
through the little house and, even by the fire, it 
searched out one’s toes and ears. 

Mother Barbette eyed her son severely. 

“There is never a moment of the day that you 
think of aught but to amuse yourself. You can do 


Dian 


115 


little more than read and write, and you can thank 
Dian that you accomplish even that much.” Mother 
Barbette spoke with feeling. It seemed as though 
Jean would never grow up, he was so merry of heart 
and so untouched by trouble. Her heart was sad 
enough, for she knew that, since Neville had come 
back two months previous, there had been no mes¬ 
sage from Madame Saint Frere and Lisle. They 
were hoping daily for the coming of another mes¬ 
senger. Dian had spoken of snow. That would 
mean bad traveling! Mother Barbette sighed as she 
patched the little coat. She knew that, though there 
were stores in the cellars at Les Vignes, there was 
very little ready money. 

There was a sudden rap on the door. An instant 
later it opened, and in ran Marie Josephine. Mother 
Barbette rose to her feet and came toward the child, 
a look of concern on her broad face. 

“Little Mademoiselle, what is it? You have come 
alone through the wood!” she exclaimed. 

Dian stood up, and Jean jumped about the room 
in sheer delight, for Marie Josephine laughed as 
she gave Mother Barbette a hug. 

“I came for some fun,” she said, “and because I 
was tired of them all, even of Cecile, that is, not of 
her, but of her long face. You are not to scold me, 
dear Mother Barbette, because I ran alone through 
the woods.” She danced over to Dian and went on 
speaking eagerly. “I am glad that you are here, 
Dian. Jean and I were saying only the other day 


116 


Red Caps and Lilies 

that it was so long since you had told us a story, not 
since we went last to meet you when you came home 
from the pasture. I will sit on one side of you and 
Jean on the other, and if we are very good, will you 
not tell us something ?” 

Dian smiled a slow smile that lighted up his face 
and sat down again on the settle. Marie Josephine 
and Jean snuggled down on each side of him, and 
Mother Barbette went over to her stool, took up the 
coat and her needle and darning cotton, and smiled 
across at them. The Little Mademoiselle could 
only stay with them a short time, for she would soon 
be missed at Les Vignes, but it was a blessing to have 
her there with them. Mother Barbette’s kind heart 
swelled with love for the two playmates sitting beside 
the good shepherd. She had been right when she 
had said that Dian was a man of few words, but one 
who thought a great deal. Many of his thoughts 
he told to the children when they walked back with 
him to the sheepfold. Marie Josephine often 
thought of these walks with Dian during the long, 
sedate months in Paris in the winter. Sometimes 
she could almost smell the sweetness of the tufted 
meadow and hear the evening call of the larks. 

Dian sat quietly in the firelight, his black, smock¬ 
like apron falling about his knees. 

“You would have a tale, would you, Little Made¬ 
moiselle, you and Jean? Then it shall be as you 
will. I will tell you of what I was thinking as I 
walked back from the hill crest to-night and while 


Dian 


117 


I was fastening the sheepfold gate.” He paused a 
moment and, as he sat gazing into the flames, there 
was a look of great earnestness in his eyes, and of 
great sadness, too. 

“Yes, yes! tell us, good Dian, tell us. We love 
your stories, Jean and I. We often talk of them 
together and we never forget any of them—‘The 
Purple Sun’ and ‘The Grey Hill’ and ‘The Water¬ 
fall That Sang’—we love every one of them.” 

Marie Josephine sat back contentedly. Nothing 
could happen to Lisle, nothing in the world. They 
would all be together in the spring. She knew that 
the governess and the older girls talked together very 
seriously when she was not present. Even her be¬ 
loved Cecile seemed grave and preoccupied, and she 
felt that she did not confide in her any more. Denise 
and Bertran still rode gaily through the demesne 
and danced in the great drawing-room at Les Vignes 
in the evening. She was more and more with Jean. 
She knew that Lisle would be disgusted with her if 
she moped about, so she tried to be as happy as she 
could. She was really happy this cold November 
night, enjoying the little adventure of having run 
away to the cottage. 

“I hope they will worry and fuss about me,” she 
thought to herself, which was of course very naughty 
of her. Then she closed her eyes there in the soft 
firelight and listened to Dian’s story. 

“This isn’t a real story, Little Mademoiselle; it 
is only a fancy of mine. I was thinking to-night, as 


118 Red Caps and Lilies 

I walked home in the sunset, of a young lad of noble 
birth, who lived many years ago, here in France, in 
the time of the long-ago King Louis XI. It was 
the time of knights in armor and of deep dungeons. 
It was a time like the present, when every man’s 
hand was raised against his brother. All the long 
way home it seemed as though this young lad walked 
beside me. He was clothed in blue and silver and 
his hair was like the corn when it is ripe. There was 
a falcon on his wrist because he was one of the king’s 
pages of the hunt. Many a night he had held a 
torchlight for the king and had shouted, ‘Hallali!’ 
when the greedy pack caught the poor stag. He was 
a gallant youth and a brave one, though he was so 
young that he had never seen sixteen years. He 
loved to run with his fellow pages through the forest 
at dawn and to throw the javelin with them at sun¬ 
set. He was also a true and loyal knight. One day, 
because he loved his king, he was carried away to 
a dungeon and no one knew where he had gone.” 

Dian stopped speaking and sat looking into the 
dying fire, his hands spread out upon his knees. Jean 
ran over to a wooden box by the door and came back 
with his arms filled with fagots. He threw them 
on the fire and the sudden burst of flames made the 
pewter utensils above the mantel shine like diamonds 
and brought out the crimson gleam of the woven rug 
that covered Mother Barbette’s four-poster bed. 
Pince Nez, the crow, who had been asleep with his 
head cocked on one side, woke suddenly and gave 



Pince Nez 

















Dian 


119 


a solemn croak. When he croaked Mother Barbette 
gave a little start and sat up. She had been fast 
asleep and had not heard more than a word or two 
of what Dian had been saying. 

Jean ran back to the settle after he had put on 
the wood and sat down in his place by the shepherd’s 
side. He smiled across at Marie Josephine with his 
merry black eyes. “We like the story, do we not, 
Little Mademoiselle?” he asked her. She sat look¬ 
ing down at her hands which were folded in her lap. 
She did not answer him or look up at him, for there 
were tears in her eyes and she did not want any one 
to see them. While Dian had been talking she had 
been thinking with all her might. She had begun 
to suspect that he was speaking of Lisle, and as he 
went on she became sure of it. 

“There was a cowherd on the lands where the 
young page lived,” Dian went on. “This cowherd 
was sorely grieved at the trouble that had come to 
his master. He thought of the page night and day. 
He wished more than he had ever wished anything 
that he might find a way to rescue him, and he whis¬ 
pered the wish as a prayer to the sun and the stars.” 

A knock broke in on the quiet earnestness of the 
shepherd’s voice and the next instant the door opened 
and Neville came inside. He was wind-blown and 
breathless. 

“You are here, Little Mademoiselle, and that is 
well. The young ladies and Madame le Pont were 


120 


Red Caps and Lilies 

uneasy about you. Madame le Pont requested me 
to say that you were to come at once.” 

The shepherd stood up and reached for his cloak 
from the back of the settle. He was a taller man 
than Neville and had the look of one who had lived 
always in the open, close to the secrets of beasts and 
birds. Neville wore again his wig and his familiar 
house uniform of red and gold. It did not seem 
possible that he could ever have worn the queer, 
shabby disguise in which he had come back from 
Paris. He looked very pale and ill. No one but 
the shepherd knew of the dire peril through which 
the faithful man had passed in order to return with 
the message from the comtesse and to protect the 
little group at Les Vignes. Dian knew, and there 
was something he had to say to him, so he put on 
his cloak and went with them. 

The wind shrieked eerily as Marie Josephine 
walked through the forest, with Neville and Dian 
on each side of her. Mother Barbette had wrapped 
her cloak about her and pulled the cape up over her 
curls. She walked quietly, holding Dian’s hand so 
that he might steady her steps over the fallen 
branches of trees or the sudden twists of roots here 
and there. Neville’s lanthorn cast a dancing light 
ahead of them. 

Marie Josephine was thinking deeply. Could it 
be that she was the same laughing, mischievous girl 
who had run away after dinner, leaving the others 
in the great firelit drawing-room? She had tried to 


Diati 


121 


be happy because she could not believe that anything 
could happen to those she loved. Now, suddenly, 
she was awake, and because it was her nature to do 
things thoroughly she was very much awake indeed. 
She knew, as she walked back under the moonless 
sky toward Les Vignes, where the lights shone 
faintly, that she would never be the same little girl 
again. Dian had been speaking of Lisle. He had 
not said so, but she knew it. Dian felt that Lisle 
was in danger. There was no use in being happy or 
playing in the woods with Jean any longer. She 
must be awake. It might be that there was some¬ 
thing she could do! 

She heard the clock strike eleven that night, and 
then twelve. She had lain awake for three hours 
listening to the thin branches of walnut trees swish¬ 
ing and flapping against her windows. When the 
clock struck twelve she sat up in bed and listened. 
She had opened the window a little way because she 
loved to feel the sweet, chill wind. She heard voices 
quite distinctly by the side of the house. Some one 
spoke in a low tone, and a voice answered that she 
knew right away was Dian’s. 

“It is right that I should be the one to go. I have 
left a message for the governess. Tell her not to 
fear. I shall reach them sometime safely.’’ Whether 
because the wind changed freakishly, or because the 
voices had gone on down the driveway, Marie Jose¬ 
phine did not hear another word. She jumped out 
of bed and ran to the window and, kneeling, peered 


122 


Red Caps and Lilies 

out. There was no one about, and she did not hear 
anything now, except the moan of the forest and 
the wail of the wind. 

She turned her head as she knelt against the win¬ 
dow casement and there, coming toward her, was 
Cecile. How it happened Marie Josephine did not 
quite know, but the next moment she was sobbing 
with Cecile’s arms about her. Before she realized 
it she was in bed, tucked up warmly, with Cecile close 
beside her. She told Cecile of Dian’s story and then 
of the words she had just overheard, and she knew 
that Cecile was very excited though she spoke quietly. 

“Do you think it can be that Dian has gone to¬ 
night to Paris? Do you think that is what I over¬ 
heard, Cecile?” Marie Josephine asked her friend, 
who answered steadily: 

“I think that Dian has gone, and we must pray 
that he can help them.” 

Cecile’s long braid of fair hair fell across her 
shoulders over her velvet robe. She put her face 
down on the pillow beside Marie Josephine and they 
both lay looking out at the late moon which showed 
fleetingly through white clouds. 

“I thought you had deserted me for your little 
friend Jean. You seemed happy, just playing with 
him, and I was glad for you, but I have missed your 
company so much of late,” Cecile said softly. 

“I thought you’d rather be with the others, and 
that you look upon me as a baby, the way the rest 


Diart 123 

do,” Marie Josephine answered with a sob, putting 
her arms around Cecile. 

“No, Marie, I sometimes think of you as being 
the oldest of us all, and the wisest. You think and 
dream when we are only sitting by and sewing. Per¬ 
haps it is because you are so close to the wild wood 
things—perhaps that is what makes you wise,” 
Cecile said. 

“I’m not wise, but Dian is. He will take care of 
Lisle, I know he will.” Marie Josephine smiled 
confidently in the dark as she spoke. 

She lay awake beside Cecile for a long time, Great- 
aunt Hortense’s tapestry covering them both. Dian 
was on his way through the wind-swept night. 
Cecile, too, was awake. She was thinking of Lisle in 
his blue velvet and diamonds and his jeweled sword, 
of the minuet which they had danced together at the 
bal masque on that last strange, happy evening. 
Dian was on his way to help; for that she was thank¬ 
ful. Had she known of Humphrey Trail, in the 
dingy Paris alley room, she would have been more 
thankful still. Had she known of some of the plans 
in the mind of the friend who lay beside her in 
the great four-poster bed, she would have been 
astounded and alarmed! 


Chapter X 


IN THE SNOWSTORM 

Dian heard the great clock on the stairs at Les 
Vignes boom out the twelve strokes of midnight as 
he said the few hasty words of farewell to Neville. 
He saw with satisfaction that the moon was out and 
that the wind was changing. He walked down the 
great driveway which led through the demesne. It 
was a good mile to the gates, but with his long, easy 
strides he covered the ground with amazing quick¬ 
ness. At the left was the dark outline of the wood 
and behind lay the wide terraces, grey and bare this 
late November night. 

Dian turned to his left at the far end of the drive¬ 
way and entered a narrow path bordered on each 
side by slim poplar trees, then he climbed through 
a narrow opening in a low hedge and found himself 
on the highroad. He walked quickly along until 
he came to the row of straggling huts to which Jean 
had brought the loaves of bread on the August night 
when he had tried to keep his cousin Grigge from 
taking one whole loaf for himself. 

He knocked softly on the door of one of the huts 
and waited, listening. After a moment he heard a 
124 


In the Snowstorm 


125 


sound from within and then the door opened slightly 
and a gaunt, thin face showed itself. It was the face 
of Grigge, and when he saw the shepherd standing 
there, he came outside, closing the door softly behind 
him. He had on the same old, shabby work clothes 
that he had worn all day, having lain down for the 
night on his heap of straw without removing them, 
glad of the little warmth they afforded him. 

“Dian!” he exclaimed softly. “Dian! Where are 
you going?” 

The shepherd put his sack on the ground and, 
feeling in the inside pocket of his cloak, brought out 
a goatskin purse and handed it to the boy, who took 
it wonderingly. 

“I am going on something of a journey, Grigge, 
and I am leaving my sheep in your care. I am trust¬ 
ing them to you and I know that in spite of your 
wild ways, lad, you will keep them faithfully for. me. 
Let them pasture until the snow comes and then be 
on guard for the wolves. Here is a bit of money, 
only a bit. Mother Barbette will give you bread 
when she has it to give, but there will not be over¬ 
much for her and Jean. Farmer Lessoir will sell 
you flour, such as it is. You must see to it that 
your mother and the young children have their 
share.” 

Dian put his hand kindly on Grigge’s shoulder, 
and he saw that the color had come into the boy’s 
cheeks at his words. Grigge caught hold of the edge 
of the shepherd’s cloak and looked up at him implor- 


126 


Red Caps and Lilies 

ingly, for it seemed as though he could not bear to 
say good-by to the one person in all the world whom 
he loved and trusted. 

“Oh, do not go away and leave me, Dian. It is 
awful to think of the winter’s coming. What shall 
I do without you, Dian! No one will have aught 
to do with me but you.” Grigge turned up the 
frayed collar of his poor jacket as he spoke, for the 
chill air swirled about him unmercifully. 

“You are to be a man while I am away. Try to 
be brave and to add a little comfort to the lives of 
your poor mother and your brothers and sisters. Go 
to your aunt for counsel. She is a good woman and 
means well by you all.” Dian lifted his sack as he 
spoke and threw it over his shoulder. 

“I’m not welcome there. I’ll have naught to do 
with them,” Grigge answered sullenly, but realizing 
that his friend was about to depart he caught his 
cloak again. “I’ll do well by the sheep, and I’ll try 
to think of the others when the hunger is tearing at 
my heart. Will you not tell me where you are going 
and why you leave this way in the stillness of the 
night?” 

Dian shook his head. “That I cannot do, Grigge, 
but if the good God will it, I shall come back again. 
Remember all I have said and guard my sheep well, 
for they are dear indeed to me. Hold your courage 
through the winter. Who knows what good may 
come by spring!” He touched the boy’s shoulder in 
farewell and was off down the wide road. 



Grigge 


























In the Snowstorm 


127 


Grigge gazed after him, his hands clasped to¬ 
gether, a sob catching his throat. It seemed as 
though all that he knew of kindliness and comrade¬ 
ship was going farther and farther from him down 
the wind-swept road. He had never known anything 
in his life but discomfort. He had always been 
hungry and in winter he had always been cold. He 
was rough and selfish and sullen and he knew it and 
most of the time did not care. But as he stood there 
that night by the low door of his wretched home, 
Grigge determined to be different! He went inside, 
and the wind slammed the door behind him before 
he could catch it. The noise awoke his little sister 
Letta, who whined, “It is cold; it is cold.” 

“You are no colder than the rest of us,” Grigge 
answered roughly, but, after hesitating a moment, 
he put the piece of shawl over her and then tumbled 
down on to his mound of straw by the door. 

Dian hardly heeded the weather as he quickly 
covered the ground. His thoughts were with the 
lad he had left and the sad lot of the people who 
lived at the very gates of a great house. He felt 
sad at heart, but said to himself, as he had often 
done before, “There is no use in your grieving for 
them, for that will not help them, and to help them 
is your dearest wish.” Grigge was only one of 
thousands of young lads who were made old and 
bitter by lack of food and the injustice that bound 
their lives. Dian knew little of the great conflict 
that was raging in Paris or of the armies massing 


128 


Red Caps and Lilies 

throughout the land. He knew that the people, who 
for centuries had been overtaxed and overburdened 
by the arrogance and indifference of the nobility, 
had at last risen in revolt, but he did not know that 
they were being governed by bad, unscrupulous men 
and that there was no longer either law or order or 
justice in Paris or in other parts of France. He had 
thought that it was right for him to go to Paris, 
having had a feeling, for many days past, that the 
young Comte Lisle, whom he loved, was in danger. 
So he had made his simple preparations, telling only 
Neville, whom he knew to be faithful, where he was 
going. 

The evening on which Dian told the children, in 
Mother Barbette’s cottage, about the young page in 
blue and silver was a wintry one in Paris. The 
snow had begun to fall, slanting mistlike through 
dreary alleyways. Although it was only a slight 
scurry and melted almost as soon as it touched the 
ground, it covered, for a little while, much of the 
soot and grime, making a fairy tracery about the 
roofs of the old houses. The sleet blew in a rakish, 
zigzag way across the alley where Vivi lived and 
far down the dim street beyond it. Curving north¬ 
ward, it swirled past close-shut shop windows and 
gaunt, noisy tenements, until it reached the great 
square in the middle of which stood the guillotine! 

Then, in a sort of frenzy, it rioted down a wide 
avenue, spending itself at last against the windows 


In the Snowstorm 129 

of a house, close shut behind iron gates, in a quiet 
corner of Paris. 

Lisle Saint Frere and Rosanne de Soigne were 
spending the evening in the great drawing-room in 
front of the fire. Rosanne knelt by the dying flames, 
peering at some nuts which she was roasting in a 
bed of coals. Her fair hair fell about her shoulders, 
and she had on the same white frock which she had 
worn on the night that she and Marie Josephine 
hid in the balcony. She shivered in spite of the fact 
that she wore a little velvet jacket over her frock. 

“One of them is almost ready to pop. That’s 
yours. Wouldn’t it be a jolly thing if we could roast 
one for Marie Josephine?” As she spoke Rosanne 
leaned forward and picked out the nut with a pair 
of long bronze tongs and laid it on the iron fender 
to cool. She had stayed with Lisle and his mother 
ever since her mother had gone to nurse her father. 
Events had crowded thick and fast after the depar¬ 
ture of the others for Pigeon Valley. Madame de 
Soigne had had just time to get away before the 
gates were closely guarded, and her departure had 
been made possible only because of an excellent dis¬ 
guise. There had been no word from her, and Lisle 
and his mother did what they could to keep Rosanne 
from feeling the anxiety which they themselves 
experienced. She never left the house and they told 
her nothing of what happened in the city. She was 
used to believing what she was told, but she thought 


130 


Red Caps and Lilies 

a great deal about it all, and she was more troubled 
than they knew. 

“Do you think we shall be going to Pigeon Valley 
soon, Lisle?” she asked suddenly. 

Lisle shook his head, eating the nut gingerly, for 
it was still hot. He and Rosanne had not known 
each other very well in the old days, but they had 
become fairly well acquainted in the three months 
that they had been together. Lisle did not find 
Rosanne half as interesting as the little sister whom 
he missed so much, but he liked her, and he had a 
protecting feeling for her. She was his responsi¬ 
bility, just as his mother was, and he wanted to do 
his best for both of them. This was what made 
things so hard for him, having to be careful for 
their sakes. What adventures he could have if he 
were alone! 

The days had been dull enough, in spite of all the 
happenings in the city, and time dragged heavily. 
They had had no word from Neville since he had 
left for Pigeon Valley, and the longing to hear from 
the others at Les Vignes seemed sometimes more 
than they could bear, but each hid his emotion from 
the other. They had been taught to do this always, 
and now their training was making it easier for 
them to seem cheerful. 

“Do you think we can go to Pigeon Valley in the 
spring, Lisle? Please answer me,” Rosanne per¬ 
sisted. When Lisle still did not reply, she went on, 
trying to hide the tremble in her voice: “It is just 


In the Snowstorm 


131 


as Marie Josephine said. You think that you are 
so very grown-up. You will not tell me of all you 
fear. I know that we are in great trouble. I’ve 
thought more about it since yesterday morning when 
Madame Saint Frere went to your Great-aunt Hor- 
tense, who is so very ill. There were tears in your 
mother’s eyes. I saw them. She is only to be away 
for a few days, and yet she did not like to leave us. 
Tell me, Lisle, please tell me all about it. I know 
it is a revolution and that I may not go out on the 
street to walk or ride and that the servants have 
left us and dear maman has not sent me any word 
since she went to papa. Tell me, Lisle, is it all so 
dreadful?” 

Rosanne came and stood looking up at Lisle, her 
brown eyes eagerly watching his blue ones as he 
answered her. 

“It’s a bad time,” he said slowly. “It can’t last 
much longer. Yes, it is a revolution and there is 
danger for some people, but we are safe enough. 
There is no reason why we should fear.” Lisle was 
glad that Rosanne had spoken. It made them seem 
more like comrades and he found that it was a relief 
to talk over the situation. He saw that she was 
missing his mother and he felt vaguely that he must 
try to divert her. He, too, missed his mother, but 
of course he would not admit it even to himself. 
The comtesse had shown a softer side than any he 
had ever seen before during the past months that 
they had been alone. The three had sat for long 


132 


Red Caps and Lilies 

hours by the fire and she had told of the gay, care¬ 
less times when she had been a girl, when there had 
been nothing but gay balls and gilded sedan chairs, 
laughter and satins to make up her days. Now all 
her friends were gone, many being imprisoned in 
the Abbaye or other prisons of Paris, some having 
escaped to England, some to different parts of 
France, all because they and their ancestors had 
oppressed the people. 

Rosanne was right when she said that Lisle’s 
mother had not wanted to leave them even for a 
few days. Great-aunt Hortense was ill and she had 
sent her servant with a note begging her great-niece 
to come to her bedside. She lived only a few 
squares away. 

“Don’t worry, mother, we shall do quite well, 
Rosanne and I. Henri will look after us as to food, 
and you’ll find us roasting nuts by the fire when you 
come back. I shall take good care of Rosaune,” 
Lisle had assured his mother. 

The comtesse had put both her slender hands on 
his shoulders as she answered him. “And of your¬ 
self, my son, my only son, my beloved,” she had 
said. Lisle and Rosanne had thought often, since 
she left, of her emotion. 

“Teach me the gavotte steps again, Lisle. I shall 
soon be able to dance quite well.” Rosanne held 
out her hand as she spoke. “I can hum the melody 
again like this. Let us see if we can do it all the 
way through!” 


In the Snowstorm 133 

Lisle thought it a rather silly thing to do, but he 
was uneasy about Rosanne’s missing his mother, 
and he felt that it was his duty to keep her cheerful. 
He found that he enjoyed the dance, for he directed 
his companion in the different measures and he liked 
telling people how to do things. 

“You bow so beautifully, Lisle. You are just like 
the cavaliers on Monsieur Watteau’s fans,” Rosanne 
exclaimed admiringly, as they reached the end of a 
measure. 

“You will soon do very well if you will keep your 
mind on it,” Lisle answered as they hummed the 
bewitching melody of the last measure and took 
their positions to begin. 

Rosanne colored with pleasure. She would never 
have dreamed six months before that she would be 
dancing with Lisle Saint Frere. She thought of the 
August night when she and Marie Josephine had 
watched him from the balcony as he danced with 
her cousin Cecile. What would Lisle think if he 
knew what a very naughty thing they had done? 
Sometime it would be fun to tell him! 

As he danced, Lisle thought of something else his 
mother had said: “I would have so little fear if I 
were leaving you with Neville. We can trust him 
always, but we do not know, even though he has 
seemed faithful, whether or not we can always trust 
Henri.” Lisle had said nothing then to his mother. 
Much as he would have liked to have reassured her, 


134 Red Caps and Lilies 

he did not trust Henri and never could pretend that 
he did. 

There was yet another thing that Lisle was think¬ 
ing about. It made him say to himself sternly: 
“You should be ashamed to let yourself fancy such 
things. It is not fit that one who soon will go out 
to fight for the king and queen should have silly 
fancies.” This is what Lisle called his fancy. He 
had gone several times to the bakery where he had 
seen Humphrey Trail, and twice of late he thought 
that on his return he was being followed! He liked 
going to the bakery. He would sit at one of the 
glass tables enjoying his eau sucre and a meringue 
and watching the well-to-do merchants’ wives, who 
for the time being had nothing to fear, come and go. 
No one had seemed to notice him particularly. The 
bakery woman had looked at him a little curiously 
as she did up her crisp cakes in neat boxes. He 
always wore the shabby old groom’s suit and he 
never spoke, except to give his order and to buy the 
cakes for Rosanne. 

Lisle had thought often of Humphrey Trail since 
the night that the farmer had given him the Saint 
Antoine address. The man had meant well. Of that 
Lisle was sure. There was comfort also in the 
thought that he could find Humphrey if he should 
need him. Nevertheless, he had not heeded Hum¬ 
phrey’s warning. He had continued to go to the 
bakery. It had been one of his few pleasures during 


In the Snowstorm 135 

those strange weeks so suddenly different from any¬ 
thing he had ever known. Never before had he 
eaten in a cake shop or bought things for himself. 
Everything was changing. Six months more and 
there would be no shop. The shoppers themselves 
would be hiding for their lives. 

“Henri will be back soon with the meat, and then 
let us have supper in here by the fire,” suggested 
Rosanne as they stopped to rest from their dancing. 

The fire had died down, and Lisle saw that there 
was no wood left in the wood box of hammered 
silver on the stone hearth. It was very cold and 
he noticed, now that they had ceased dancing, that 
Rosanne was shivering. Where was Henri? Why 
was he not taking care of them? 

“I shall go out into the halls and call for Henri, 
and if I do not find him, I shall go to the cellars for 
some wood. Stay here by the little bit of fire that 
is left. I shall only be gone a few minutes,” Lisle 
said to Rosanne, and leaving her he went out into 
the great marble hall. He went over to the en¬ 
trance door and, opening it, looked out at the fast 
falling snow. As he did so, he thought he saw 
something dark in the shadow of one of the lower 
doors, but when he peered again through the dark¬ 
ness and the sleet, there was nothing. 

He closed the door and walked down the hall. 
He could hear Rosanne singing to herself in the 
drawing-room: 


136 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“La petite Jeannette avait un poupee mignonne, 
Tra la la la, Tra la la la, 

Elle chantait pour elle une joli chanson, 

Tra la la la, Tra la la la.” 

He called “Henri,” but there was no reply, and 
so he walked on down the hall, through a long cor¬ 
ridor, as Marie Josephine had done when she had 
gone to the secret cellar. He turned a corner, went 
down another corridor, opened a door, and de¬ 
scended a steep flight of stairs. He knew that they 
must have wood to last them until Henri should 
come in with their supper. He saw that the small 
door at the end of the cellar that led to the base¬ 
ment was open, a blast of cold wind drifting in. He 
stooped and picked up as much wood as he could 
carry. Then he stood up, holding the sticks against 
the dark velvet of his tunic. At that moment some 
one caught him firmly about the waist. The wood 
fell with a thump to the stone floor as his arms were 
tied quickly and skillfully behind him. He was 
lifted across some one’s shoulders, and a moment 
later felt the rush of cold wind in his face. Then 
his captor began to run with him, swiftly, through 
the fast falling snow! 


Chapter XI 


“THA MUST NOT CRY OUT, LASS” 

Humphrey Trail called himself all sorts of 
names as he stood in the shadow near the side en¬ 
trance to the Saint Frere house that night. The 
sleet was changing into snow which gave no evidence 
of abating. Humphrey tied his scarf closer about 
his throat and shifted from one fat leg to the other. 
What a goose he was to come every evening and 
stand in the shadow of such a gloomy, proud-look- 
ing house just because he was interested in being of 
service to the proud boy who lived within it, and 
who, perhaps, did not care a ha’penny whether he 
stood there in the sleet and wind or not! 

It was a fortnight since Humphrey had seen Lisle 
in the bakery shop and had given him the Saint 
Antoine address. He had not seen him since and 
he could only comfort himself with the thought that 
the boy knew where to find him. It was hard for 
Humphrey, as he knew so little of all that was going 
on and did not dare to ask questions of any one. 
Once he had seen the servant Henri coming out of 
the bakery shop with a package, but he had felt 
it wiser not to speak with him. Lisle had said that 
137 


138 


Red Caps and Lilies 

they did not know whether or not they could trust 
Henri. Humphrey’s heart warmed as he remem- 
bered how the lad had confided in him that night 
outside the bakery shop. It comforted him as he 
stood there in the storm. He had changed his posi¬ 
tion so that instead of facing the side of the house, 
he faced the front. It was not wise as a rule to do 
this, or so he had felt, because the position was too 
public and open, even in the darkness, but to-night 
the blizzardy snow made it safe enough. 

Poor Humphrey, how his heart thumped when 
suddenly voices caught his ear! He had no time 
to be alarmed for himself or to do more than stand 
close to the wall when these words reached him: 
“The door by the basement steps.” Then followed 
a sentence or two which Humphrey could not under¬ 
stand. Then he heard the words, “The girl!” 

Two figures made their way down the side street, 
away from the house. Humphrey watched them 
until they were out of sight. Then, looking back 
at the great mansion, he saw that the entrance door 
was being opened by some one who seemed to find 
the process difficult, and the next moment a little 
girl peered out into the storm. She glanced up and 
down the street, trying, evidently in vain, to distin¬ 
guish something besides the swirling snow. Then 
she went inside, and the heavy door closed behind 
her. 

Humphrey at all times found it difficult to think 
quickly, but he knew that he must do so this one 


“Tha Must Not Cry Out, Lass” 


139 


time. He could only surmise, from the few words 
which he had overheard, that Lisle had been seen 
in the cellar, or was to be decoyed there. The inci¬ 
dent of the little girl’s coming to the door, as though 
in search of some one, convinced him that she was 
looking for Lisle. He thought he had recognized 
Henri in one of the men who had passed by him, 
but he was not sure. He wondered why they had 
gone away from the house, instead of entering it. 
He was thankful that they had not done so, but 
the fact was borne in upon him that Lisle had been 
abducted either by the men whom he had seen or 
by their accomplices. He felt fairly sure that they 
would return for Rosanne and, as he walked rapidly 
around the side of the house, he tried to think what 
it was best to do. 

He found to his relief that the cellar door was 
open, and he slipped inside and made his way to 
the staircase, stumbling over the wood that Lisle 
had dropped. He climbed the stairs cautiously and 
passed quickly down the long corridors, pausing 
when he came to the great entrance hall. A door 
at one side stood open, and he could see a spacious, 
candle-lit room beyond. It was the salon, and as 
he entered it he saw the little girl standing by the 
fireplace. As he started to cross the room, he spoke 
so as not to startle her too much. 

“Tha has nought to fear, little lady. ’Tis Hum¬ 
phrey Trail, and Monsieur Lisle has spoken of tha 
to me!” he said. 


140 


Red Caps and Lilies 

It was wise of Humphrey to speak so to Rosanne, 
for, instead of fear, she felt relief at once, and ran 
across the room to meet him, saying eagerly: 
“Where is Lisle? Yes, he spoke of you last night. 
He said he trusted you out of all Paris. He went 
to the cellar for wood quite awhile ago. He said 
to stay here, and I did for such a long time. Then 
I went to the hall and called him. He did not come, 
so I opened the front door and looked out. Where 
is Lisle, Humphrey Trail?” Rosanne’s voice broke 
as she put this question to the farmer, and she had 
to try very hard not to cry. 

Humphrey beamed upon her, and there was some¬ 
thing so reassuring in his smile that Rosanne smiled, 
too, through her tears. “Tha’ll be a brave lass for 
his sake and the sake of those tha hold dear. I’ll 
give my life to find tha lad, but now tha must come 
with me as quick as ever tha can. Tha must trust 
Humphrey Trail. If th’art not a brave girl, I 
canna help tha!” 

While he was speaking Humphrey had gathered 
up a heavy, velvet drapery which lay across the 
inlaid mother-of-pearl table near the fireplace, and 
before Rosanne could think he had wrapped it 
around her. “The cold is bitter. I’ll hold tha 
close,” he said. 

He lifted Rosanne in his arms and glanced back 
at the shadowy doorway. She put both her arms 
around him and looked up at him, her bewildered 
brown eyes shining bravely. 


“Tha Must Not Cry Out, Lass” 


141 


“I’m not afraid, Humphrey Trail, and I do trust 
you. You’ll take me to Lisle, won’t you? You’ll 
promise to find Lisle for me!” she said. He nodded 
and whispered: 

“I’ll try!” 

He moved cautiously across the room and when 
he reached the hall he paused, putting up his hand 
to warn Rosanne not to speak. He thought that he 
had heard a sound. As he stood there, holding 
Rosanne closely wrapped in the blue velvet table 
cover, he saw the front door open slowly, and he 
knew that those who had taken Lisle away had 
come back for Rosanne. He knew, too, that a great 
deal depended on her, and he spoke quietly in her 
ear. 

“Tha has nought to fear. I know well how to 
take tha away but tha must not cry out, lass, not 
for a’ the world!” Rosanne nodded her head for 
answer, and Humphrey crept with her along the 
hall, keeping in the shadow until he came to the 
turn which took them down the long corridor. He 
began to run when he had turned the corner, and 
he did not stop until he reached the top of the cellar 
stairs. He knew that the men would find out at 
once that Rosanne was not in the salon and would 
begin to hunt for her. They might think that she 
had gone to the cellar to look for Lisle, knowing 
that he had gone there for wood, and they would 
follow. He was right. 

It was necessary to take the steep stairs carefully, 


142 


Red Caps and Lilies 

for it was very dark, and there were deep, worn 
places, like holes, in the stone steps. He nearly fell 
once, and had to stop to steady himself for a mo¬ 
ment and to get his breath before he could go on. 
When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he lis¬ 
tened intently but heard no sound except the scurry 
of rats in the wall near them; so, lifting Rosanne to 
his shoulder and wrapping the table cover more 
closely about her, he went swiftly across the cellar 
and through the half-open door, out into the winter 
night. 

He kept well in the shadow of the great house 
until he came to the side street, and then he started 
to run. As we know, he was short and fat, and 
Rosanne was not a very light weight. He kept up 
a sort of jogging trot, and, finally, feeling sure now 
that no one was pursuing them, he began to walk. 
The snow was so dense that he had little fear of 
being noticed by passers-by, and every now and then 
he stopped to rest. Once when he stopped Ros- 
anne’s voice reached him from under the velvet 
mantle. 

“I can walk quite well in spite of the storm, 
Humphrey Trail,” she said, but he answered: 

“T’is wiser this way, lass. Th’art indeed a 
brave enough lass.” 

Humphrey’s heart was sorely troubled. There 
was only one place that he could take Rosanne, and 
that was to his lodgings in the alley! He felt very 
helpless as they came into the rue Saint Antoine. 


“Tha Must Not Cry Out, Lass n 


143 


The street seemed dreary and dingy, even through 
the lovely falling snow. He had come to Paris for 
the first holiday in all his work-a-day farmer’s life 
and one after another adventures had come to him, 
and with them the need to think and plan. 

There was no time just then to think or plan, at 
least not until they were safe indoors. Humphrey, 
in spite of the storm, turned the right number of 
corners and reached the alley in safety. Once in¬ 
side the door of his poor abode he placed Rosanne 
gently on her feet. 

“Listen, little lady. This is but a poor place I 
bring tha to, poor indeed and cold, but it is safe and 
if tha can be brave and bear with it, tha will be 
helping me to find Master Lisle.” Humphrey spoke 
very earnestly, and Rosanne, although she could 
not see his face in the darkness of the chill hall, 
knew that he was waiting anxiously for her answer. 

“I shall try to be brave so that you can find Lisle, 
Humphrey Trail,” she answered, and, putting her 
hand in his broad hard one, mounted the rickety 
staircase with him. 

Humphrey opened the door on the first landing 
and called “Vivi.” A voice answered eagerly: 

“Yes, yes!” 

Humphrey came into the room with Rosanne’s 
hand in his. He closed the door and walked with 
Rosanne over to the window where Vivi was stand¬ 
ing with Minuit in her arms. The two girls stared 
at each other. Vivi looked the longest, but it was 


144 


Red Caps and Lilies 

not because she was any more surprised than Ros- 
anne; it was only because Rosanne had been taught 
that it was not right to show one’s surprise too 
much, or to stare too openly at any one. 

“Who is that?” Vivi asked, pointing at Rosanne 
over the dark curve of Minuit’s lean body. 

Before he could answer Rosanne looked up at 
Humphrey and exclaimed: 

“She’s a little like Marie Josephine! It’s odd, 
but she is!” 

When Rosanne said this Humphrey felt a sudden 
great relief. Little Vivi would help him. He had 
not thought of that before. The two girls would 
help each other, each in her own way, lonely Vivi 
and lonely Rosanne, and in his big heart Humphrey 
vowed that he would take care of both of them. 

“This is a new friend for you and Minuit, Vivi,” 
he answered. “She is cold and tired and she is 
lonely, too. Sit close by her here on the cot while 
I make up the fire. You should not have let it go 
out for I left you plenty of wood!” 

Vivi and Rosanne sat down on the cot, glancing 
shyly at each other. Minuit sat on Vivi’s knee and 
looked distrustfully at Rosanne, who stroked his 
bony back timidly. 

Humphrey went over to the rude fireplace, and 
after some puffing of his fat cheeks, and shoving of 
paper here and there, started a good blaze. When 
the wood was burning nicely he put a very small 


“Tha Must Not Cry Out f Lass” 145 

shovelful of coal on top of it. Then he came back 
and spoke to the two children on the cot. 

“Listen well to what I say, please, tha in par¬ 
ticular, Miss Rosanne, as, perhaps, I’d best be call¬ 
ing tha. Vivi does not understand much that I 
say. I am going abroad now for food. I may be 
back within a half hour. Th’art to bolt the door 
after me when I go, and th’art not to let any one in 
but me. Tha will know me because I’ll say ‘Buns’ 
very loud outside the door. Tell Vivi what I have 
said to thee. Tell her she must na open to any 
one!” 

Rosanne promised. “I’ll not let any one in who 
does not say ‘Buns,’ ” she assured him, and again, to 
his relief, he saw that she was smiling. He went 
out and waited on the top stair until he heard the 
bolt turn. 

Because of the unusual and exciting turn of 
events, Humphrey for once had not brought food 
to Vivi. He would buy the food now and go back 
with it to the girls. Then he would go up to his 
own room and think. He must have an hour to 
think, to consider, to plan. Rosanne de Soigne 
would be safe enough that night with Vivi, and 
they both would be warm and fed. He thought 
Rosanne might be safe there for some time. The 
next all important problem was Lisle Saint Frere, 
the boy with the proud face, who had told him that 
he trusted him out of all Paris! To find out who 


146 


Red Caps and Lilies 

were his captors, to find where they had hidden 
him, to rescue him, and to bring him to safety— 
these were the things above all others that he must 
do. He would think out what was the best thing 
to do during the snowy night, while the rats scudded 
back and forth in the walls of the dark alley and 
the two girls slept cuddled close together in the 
room below, covered with the blue velvet table 
cover and the piece of torn sacking. 

Rosanne would wake in the morning to find her¬ 
self in the cold gloom of a poor tenement, but that 
night she had been too dazed and tired to take 
stock of her surroundings. She had eaten the bread 
which Humphrey had brought, and with it a piece 
of cheese. She had sat close to the fire with Vivi, 
and she had seen Vivi looking at her with the big, 
astonished black eyes that somehow were like Marie 
Josephine’s. The whole event of the evening had 
taken place so suddenly and unexpectedly. She and 
Lisle had been cosily roasting chestnuts by the fire 
one moment, and the next moment, so it seemed, 
he was gone, and Humphrey Trail had come and 
carried her off! It all seemed like a dream to her 
that evening, and she felt as though she would 
wake up at any moment. The dirty, dark room 
and the quiet, staring little girl did not seem real. 
But she liked Vivi and after the two girls had 
smiled at each other, they felt somehow like friends. 
Rosanne was very glad indeed that Vivi was there. 


“Tha Must Not Cry Out f Lass” 


147 


She put her arm around Vivi, who sleepily did 
the same. Then she fell asleep and dreamt that 
she was running along the south terrace at Les 
Vignes with Marie Josephine and that the lilies 
were in bloom all along the way. 


Chapter XII 


DIAN MAKES A FRIEND 

Dian had reached the gates of Paris and passed 
through. Though he did not in any way realize it, 
it was a remarkable thing that he had done. There 
had been a slight scrimmage among a flock of sheep 
at the west barrier when he came up to it, and much 
shouting and bad language had ensued. The guards 
at the gates were stupid, bad-tempered men, and 
they berated the market farmers loudly. Dian had 
called out to the flock in the tones so well known by 
his own sheep at home in Pigeon Valley. He knew 
well that the sheep would listen to him, and in an 
instant it seemed as though all the wild disorder 
among them had never been. They passed through 
the gates, and Dian went with them. There was 
no one in the motley crowd who did not think that 
he was their shepherd except the men who owned 
them, and they were glad enough to be out of the 
brawl! It had been easy enough to get into Paris, 
and Dian, with his simple faith, felt that when the 
right time came it would be easy to get out again. 

His journey had not been difficult for he was used 
to every kind of weather and he loved the wind and 
148 


Dian Makes a Friend 


149 


the snow. He rested whenever he was tired, and he 
never minded sleeping in the corner of a barn, with 
his warm cloak wrapped snugly about him. He had 
brought food in his wallet, and whenever he had 
thought it wise, he had asked for a glass of warm 
milk. He walked with long strides, knowing well 
how to save himself unnecessary fatigue, and he 
thought not at all about his own welfare. He had 
never been in a city before in all his life, and had 
never seen large numbers of people together, and 
as he stood quietly on a street corner watching the 
wild tide of life that swept past him, he wondered 
greatly. 

He had a hard task before him. He was think¬ 
ing how best to perform it, as he stood in the 
shadow of a gabled shop door on this dark, brood¬ 
ing day. It was less than a week since Lisle had 
been carried away from his home and Humphrey 
Trail had brought Rosanne to be a friend to Vivi. 
To find Lisle’s home was Dian’s task, and he wanted 
to do it without asking questions of any one. He 
took out a faded, leather wallet from an inner 
pocket of the smock which he wore under his cloak. 
Standing so that the light fell upon the wallet, he 
took from it a long folded piece of thin paper, which 
he opened and examined. It was the plan of a 
street and a house. He stood for a long time there 
in the shadow looking at it closely. It was traced 
in black ink delicately but distinctly. After he had 
looked at it for some time, he folded it up and put 


150 


Red Caps and Lilies 

it back in the wallet, and then put the wallet in 
the inner pocket of his smock again. 

Some one bumped against him in passing. It was 
a farmer’s lad with a sack of potatoes over his 
shoulder. They were close to the gates and the 
market carts were drawn up in rows near by, look¬ 
ing ghostly in the cold morning fog. The boy had 
an honest face, and Dian was moved to speak to 
him. 

“It is a bleak winter day,” he volunteered, and 
the boy answered snappily: 

“There’s no sense in bringing in produce these 
mornings. Wait till spring, I tell the master. Then 
there will be lettuces and cucumbers, something 
worth while; though there won’t be so many to 
enjoy them as last spring, I’m thinking.” The boy 
spoke significantly, meaning that many of the rich 
aristocrats, who had enjoyed the market dainties, 
were now in prison or had already been executed. 

“Have you served many of the great houses with 
your master’s produce?” Dian asked the boy. 

“Bless you, of a surety! There are none of the 
big houses that I do not know. All of Saint Ger¬ 
main has tasted our lettuces and our young carrots. 
But that’s all passed now; their day is gone. You 
look as though you knew a farm well yourself, and 
as though you did not feel too well acquainted with 
the city.” He eyed Dian frankly, but not impu¬ 
dently, as he spoke. 

“Yes, I am new to the city and I confess that I 



Dian 


















Dian Makes a Friend 


151 


would be glad of company. Would you not like 
to stroll about for a while? This does not seem to 
be a cheerful part of town. Let us take a look else¬ 
where.” 

Dian had the rare gift of reading faces. He had 
felt, when he first saw the farmer’s boy, that he 
was to be trusted and that he was merry and honest 
of heart. He was very well content when the boy 
replied that he would like to go about for a while, 
and he did not have to report to his master until 
late afternoon. The two started off together, keep¬ 
ing along the quieter streets, and walking rapidly 
until they came to the great square facing the one¬ 
time Tuileries palace. 

As they stood there in the great square, they 
could see the black, sinister guillotine in the distance. 
Dian shut his eyes and stood for a few moments 
with his head bowed over his clasped hands. He 
was giving thanks for the long, warm summer days, 
the comfort of the stars at night, and the confidence 
of his sheep as he led them home at sundown. The 
noise of the city was all about him. Wild voices 
were singing the “£a Ira,” the song of the revo¬ 
lution, rough, ragged groups of men and women 
in scarlet caps jostled past him. There were 
sounds of pounding and hammering everywhere, 
and he could hear the clanging of anvils from near¬ 
by forges. All over the city, these forges had sprung 
up over night, to make weapons for the people. 

They walked the great length of the square and, 


152 


Red Caps and Lilies 

except for a curious glance or so at Dian because 
of his red locks and his great stature, no one noticed 
them at all. They kept in the midst of the crowd 
going up the rue Saint Honore. The tri-color 
ribbons and the gay red caps of the half-starved 
crowds made splashes of brilliance through the 
greyness. The farm boy touched Dian’s arm. 

“Listen,” he said and his voice sank almost to a 
whisper. “Listen! I hear the roar of the tumbrils. 
They are coming this way. They almost always 
do. I have seen them before.” He caught Dian’s 
arm as he spoke, and Dian could feel him trembling. 

The shepherd laid his hand on the lad’s arm. 
“Let us come away from all this. I do not want 
to see them. I cannot help them by seeing them.” 

“Do you want to help them?” the boy asked. 

“I want to help everyone,” Dian answered. 

They walked down a side street, away from the 
rue Saint Honore, but the roar of the tumbrils fol¬ 
lowed them for a long time. Dian was sad at 
heart. He knew too well that for long centuries 
the people of France had been kept down and 
abused and embittered by the tyranny and injustice 
of the nobles, but he knew also that every day 
many innocent people were going to their death in 
the great square, that the revolution no longer had 
any dignity, no longer was a striving for justice and 
equal rights for all. It had grown to be a night¬ 
mare of wild, undisciplined horror. Dian was in 
earnest when he said that he wanted to help every- 


Dian Makes a Friend 153 

one—Grigge as well as Lisle. He wanted it more 
than anything else in all the world. 

As they walked, the boy told Dian that his name 
was Raoul, and that he came into the city once a 
week with his master. He said that they always 
stayed over night, at lodgings above a seed shop 
near the west barrier, and returned to the country 
the following day. They walked on until they came 
in sight of the Bois, a dark blur against the winter 
sky. The Bois is a wood in the heart of Paris. It 
had the same charm and mystery about it then that 
it has to-day. Dian stood looking at it, thinking 
of what Neville had told him of the gay coaching 
parties and promenades and daily drives in their 
gilded coaches of the Saint Freres and other fam¬ 
ilies of the nobility. They were all gone now, these 
same families, hiding for their lives. 

Dian knew the Saint Frere house as soon as he 
saw it, not so much by the plan he had, which would 
help him more in finding his way about inside, as by 
an engraving which he had seen in the study of the 
old Comte Saint Frere at Les Vignes. It was not 
difficult to distinguish it from the other great houses 
near it. There was something medieval and dif¬ 
ferent about it. Indeed, there was no house in all 
of Paris quite so old. 

He did not speak of the house to Raoul, as they 
passed by it. They had a modest meal of coffee and 
bread for a few sous at a stand near the farmer 
boy’s lodgings. Then Dian went with him as far 


154 


Red Caps and Lilies 

as the seed shop and there they bid each other 
good-by. Raoul said that he was glad to have met 
him, for he was timid about going alone in the 
streets while the city was in such a turmoil, and it 
was good to have the company of one who, like 
himself, knew the country and farm ways. Dian 
answered that he would know how to find him at 
his lodgings. The boy assured him that he could 
always be found there on Thursdays, unless the 
weather was so bad that his master gave up coming 
into Paris. 

As he walked away from the seed shop, Dian 
felt deeply grateful that he had become acquainted 
with the farmer’s boy, Raoul. He would be com¬ 
ing and going out of Paris every week. That in 
itself was something to remember. It was growing 
dark, and the shepherd walked slowly back by the 
way which he had taken earlier in the day with 
Raoul, past the Bois to the Saint Frere house. A 
small part of his task had already been accom¬ 
plished. He had found the Saint Frere house. 
The next thing was to enter it. This would be an 
easy enough task if the comtesse were at home, 
but something told Dian that she was not. 

It was so dark by the time he reached its gates 
that he could see the house only vaguely. A fine 
sleet was falling, and there was something sad about 
the aspect of the whole place. Dian walked up the 
marble steps to the great iron door and pulled the 
silken cord. He heard a loud clang echoing through 


Dian Makes a Friend 


155 


the great house, but, although he waited for a long 
time, no one opened the door. He went around to 
the side of the house which opened directly on to 
the dark, narrow side street which Marie Josephine 
had traversed with Gonfleur the night of the bal 
masque. After groping about for a while in the 
dark, Dian found the door leading into the cellar. 
It was half open. He went inside, stepped over 
the logs of wood lying on the floor, crept up the 
steep, dark stairs, and found himself facing a long 
corridor. 

Dian always remembered that walk through the 
great, silent house. There was no sound anywhere 
at all, and there was no sign of any human being. 
The drawing-rooms, the great halls, and the wide 
stairways seemed never to have known the touch of 
human footsteps. In one of the smaller rooms, 
on a pillow of a velvet couch, he saw some needle¬ 
work and a pair of scissors lying beside it. It looked 
as though the sewing had been carelessly thrown 
down, as indeed it had been when Great-aunt Hor- 
tense’s servant had come for the comtesse. 

Dian stood still in the center of the drawing¬ 
room and pondered. He looked at the inlaid 
mother-of-pearl table from which Humphrey had 
snatched the blue velvet covering to put about 
Rosanne, and at the wide hearth where Lisle and 
Rosanne had toasted the nuts that night a week 
ago, when so much had happened. Dian could not 
know of all this, but he worked things out in his 


156 


Red Caps and Lilies 

mind. The house had not been taken over by the 
Republican soldiers. Of that he was convinced. 
Neville had told him of much that was happening, 
and he knew that he would have found some sign 
of occupation either by the mob or official authority. 

He went on up to the floor above and came to 
a large room which he was sure must have belonged 
to the comtesse, for in it were a gilded bed with 
a blue brocade coverlet, and a tall dressing table 
with blue draperies and gold toilet articles. There 
was a little room off this which interested Dian and 
he stayed in it for some time. Dian had not wanted 
to go through the house, but he knew that he must 
do everything in his power to find Lisle and his 
mother and the little girl who had always been 
the Little Mademoiselle’s best friend. That was 
why the little room off the comtesse’s big one in¬ 
terested him so much. There was a sleeping couch, 
and close by it a table. On the table were arranged 
some books, and propped against the books was a 
water-color painting of a dog. In spite of the 
wobbly legs and ungainly shape, Dian realized that 
it was meant to be a likeness of Flambeau. He 
picked it up and read what was written on it: 

“Flambeau wishes to give you his best felicita¬ 
tions for your birthday. Your friend, Marie 
Josephine.” 

The date was that of a year or more before. 
It evidently had been one of Rosanne’s greatest 
treasures. She had brought it with her when she 


Dian Makes a Friend 


157 


had had to leave her own home so suddenly for the 
Saint Frere home. As Dian looked at the painting, 
he felt the same sadness of heart that he had felt 
when Grigge had begged him not to go away. It 
was because he had such deep and tender pity for 
any one in distress. 

He passed on to the servants’ part of the house. 
Everywhere he saw evidence of careless, hasty de¬ 
parture. There was one room that seemed different 
from the others; it gave the air of being occupied. 
Dian knew at once that it belonged to Henri, the 
one servant who had stayed, and he whom Neville 
did not trust. The door of the room was open, and 
Dian went inside. Henri probably still lived here, 
and at any moment he might return. 

Dian went on down through the vast house, feel¬ 
ing his way in the darkness, until he came to the 
long corridor on the lower floor. He took a candle 
from one of many in a bronze candelabra on the 
hall table, and then, with his sack over his shoulder, 
made his way to the top of the cellar stairs. Here 
he lit his candle with flint and tinder which he had 
found in a box on the drawing-room floor. Then 
he climbed down, down, until he came to the dim 
cellar. He knelt on the floor and pressed the little 
square stone—the seventh—that was wedged in be¬ 
tween the other stones. The stone slid aside and, 
as the space opened to receive him, he descended 
slowly into the heart of the ancient house, into the 
furthermost depths of its hidden fastness. Before 


158 


Red Caps and Lilies 

descending, he touched the stone and it slipped back 
into place. He had faith that it would open as 
easily again at his touch. He had searched for no 
lodging in Paris that day because he knew that he 
would lodge deep underground. He was “the 
other one” who knew of the hidden cellar! 


Chapter XIII 


PIGEON VALLEY AGAIN 

“Jean, you must not be sulky. I have told you 
before that you are a great baby. I only played 
and pretended to be happy. I shall never be so 
stupid again.” 

Marie Josephine and Jean were swinging on the 
gates of Les Vignes, enjoying the keen rush of air 
about their faces as they swung back and forth. 
It was a week since Dian had left in the night and 
they missed him sadly. 

“It doesn’t matter whether we miss Dian or not, 
if only he can be of comfort to maman and Lisle,” 
Marie Josephine went on. “I heard the man talk¬ 
ing to Nannette. You know, the man who brought 
the news about the king. They have killed the king 
and the man said that they would kill the poor 
queen. Lisle will run away and fight for the queen, 
even if he is only fifteen. I know he will. Lisle, 
Lisle, I want to see you so much!” 

“You are not the same since Dian left. You 
will not play, and you look as though you were 
thinking all the time,” said Jean, biting into a 
wizened apple. 


159 


160 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“I am thinking, Jean. When Neville came back 
that night that we had supper on the terrace, he 
brought us no good news. I have not been happy 
since.” 

Jean jumped down from the gate, and held it 
so that it stopped swinging back and forth. He 
looked up at Marie Josephine. 

“What is your thought, Little Mademoiselle? 
Tell me what it is; please tell little Jean I” He 
looked so young as he stood there. Marie Jose¬ 
phine gave her head an impatient shake, so that the 
blue hood of her cape fell back on her shoulders. 

“Your cousin Grigge is coming this way, Jean,” 
she said. 

Grigge came up to them along the bleak, frozen 
road. He would have passed them by with a sort 
of half nod to Marie Josephine and a scowl for 
Jean, had not Marie Josephine called out to him: 

“Will you not come and speak with us, Grigge? 
We have been talking of Dian the shepherd, and 
we wish that we could see him.” 

Grigge had never spoken with the Little Made¬ 
moiselle before although he had seen her every 
summer, and she had always given him a pleasant 
greeting. He was so eager for news of Dian, that 
he came up to them at once. 

“You have heard from him, Mademoiselle! 
Tell me that you have had word!” He came close 
to the gates and looked up eagerly at Marie Jose¬ 
phine. 


161 


Pigeon Valley Again 

She shook her head. “There is no news of him, 
but he has only been away a week. We are sure that 
he is happy, wherever he is. Nothing but good 
could happen to Dian.” 

Grigge clasped his hands together in his eager¬ 
ness. 

“No, no, you are right. Nothing could happen. 
He will come back/’ he exclaimed. 

Marie Josephine nodded emphatically. 

“Jean and I will walk with him across the 
meadows at sunset, and he will have so many won¬ 
derful things to tell us about his adventures!” 

Grigge looked at her wonderingly, at the fineness 
of her blue cape, the delicate contour of her face, 
her carefully brushed curls, her straight black vel¬ 
vet frock. He had never been close up to any one 
like her before. She was so unlike anything in his 
own life that she might have come from another 
world. When she told him that no news had come 
from Dian, his face fell. All the week he had felt 
a weight of loneliness upon him. He had taken 
faithful care of the sheep and he had been proud of 
the task, but the one person who made life bearable 
for him had gone away. 

Marie Josephine looked at Grigge with interest. 
What a pale, thin boy he was, and what big eyes 
he had! She felt a lump in her throat as she looked 
at him. Marie Josephine was beginning to wake up. 
She was beginning to realize that there was some¬ 
thing in the world besides the house in Paris and 


162 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Les Vignes, governesses and bal masques. She was 
seeing Grigge for the first time, not just as a poor, 
ragged lad living in one of the hovels at the very 
gates of her home, but as some one who was un¬ 
happy and worried and in need of comfort, as she 
was herself. Feeling this way about Grigge was 
so new to her that she did not know what to make 
of it. 

“Do you miss Dian so much?” she asked him. 

He nodded, his face working as though he would 
cry. 

“He has gone to help my brother. He told Jean 
and me a story about a prince. It came to him 
suddenly, and he told it to us. He called Lisle his 
prince, and he said he felt that he was in trouble.” 
Marie Josephine’s voice shook, and the tears 
sprang into her eyes in spite of herself. 

Grigge sneered in the way he so often did when 
he spoke to his cousin Jean. He was hungry and 
cold. The wind whistled through his tattered coat. 
So that was it! Dian had gone away to help some 
one who had never done anything for him, who 
probably did not need him at all! 

“Why should he go to your brother? What has 
he ever done for him? What have any of you ever 
done for us? You have done nothing but starve 
us! My father had to spend his nights beating 
the swamps so that the frogs would not disturb your 
people’s sleep!” 

Grigge spoke so fast that he jumbled all his 


163 


Pigeon Valley Again 

words together. His eyes snapped oddly in his 
gaunt face. He had not meant to burst out in that 
way. The words seemed to come almost without 
his knowing it. It was a bitter, dark winter. They 
had nothing and, he felt sure, never would have 
anything but bitter want. He felt jealous, too, 
when he saw his cousin Jean. He always had been 
jealous because Jean lived within the gates, and 
had better food than he. 

Marie Josephine’s eyes were full upon him. They 
were filled with astonishment, but not anger. She 
was too interested to be angry. 

“Dian maybe is risking his life! There are ter¬ 
rible times in Paris. We heard from the peddler 
that they have killed the king. Your brother is 
not worth as much as Dian’s staff!” Grigge went 
on excitedly. 

Jean flung himself from the gate and pitched 
into Grigge before either he or Marie Josephine 
could think. He had been swinging back and forth 
and listening, and when Grigge said that Lisle was 
not worth as much as Dian’s staff, he was ready 
to spring! The two boys rolled over and over on 
the hard ground. Jean knew that he was getting 
the worst of it, but he did not mind. He was fight¬ 
ing for the Little Mademoiselle, and he gloried in 
it. Let her say again that he was only a baby, and 
that he would never grow up! She would see that 
he could avenge her! She would see that no one 


164 


Red Caps and Lilies 

could insult her brother in his presence, even if 
he were only little Jean! 

Marie Josephine’s voice rang out sharply in the 
clear, frosty air. 

“Stop ! Do you hear me? I say you are to stop. 
Do not dare to hurt little Jean, Grigge!” 

Grigge had Jean upon the ground and was pound¬ 
ing him with his fists. 

Marie Josephine ran over to the two boys. 

“It would break Dian’s heart to see you,” she 
cried. Grigge immediately left off pounding and 
stood up, and after a moment Jean followed his 
example. Grigge looked sullen and sheepish, but 
Jean’s little face glowed. Marie Josephine had 
given him a look of approval. 

They stood there, the three of them, in the pale 
wintry sunshine. Marie Josephine looked straight 
into Grigge’s eyes. She held her blue cloak about 
her shoulders, her curls blew in the wind, and on 
her white, earnest face was a look that had never 
been there before. 

“I didn’t know, Grigge. I am just waking up 
to—oh, so many things! You are not the only one 
who has trouble now, remember that. We must all 
try to help each other.” As she spoke, she turned 
away toward the gates, but Grigge’s voice followed 
her. 

“I’m sorry, Mademoiselle,” he cried. 

Late the next afternoon Marie Josephine sought 
Jean at the cottage. He was alone, sitting on the 


165 


Pigeon Valley Again 

settle by the fire, and he was just finishing his early 
supper of onion soup. Mother Barbette had gone 
to the hovel to take some soup to Grigge’s youngest 
sister, who was ailing. 

Marie Josephine shut the door behind her and 
came over and sat on the settle, well pleased to 
find that Jean was alone. 

“It is soon time for me to be dressed for our 
supper, so I can only stay for a very little while. 
I have been thinking some more, Jean, and I am 
going to tell you what I have planned to do.” She 
looked at him very earnestly as she spoke. “I think 
I shall tell you—if only I can be quite, quite sure 
that I can trust you. Now do not frown. You 
might forget and let a word slip. Will you promise 
me that you will never, never let any one know what 
I am going to tell you?” She put both hands on 
his shoulders as she spoke and her eyes shone with 
eagerness. 

Jean nodded vigorously. He would not mention 
what he had done, not he. She had seen him pitch 
into Grigge, a big boy, who was known to be a 
fighter. She knew that he was not so young as 
she had thought. He could keep his own counsel 
too. 

“I’ll never tell, never, never, never,” he assured 
her. 

She went over to the door, opened it, and looked 
out to make sure that no one was coming. A shriek 


166 


Red Caps and Lilies 

from above the door made her jump, but it was 
only Pince Nez the crow. 

Marie Josephine walked over to the fire and 
poked one of the logs with her little bronze shoe. 
There was some snow on the shoe and it fell into 
the logs with a sizzling sound. 

“It is like this, Jean,” she said. “I’ve thought 
about it so many times, lying awake at night, and 
even when sitting with the others around the draw¬ 
ing-room fire after our supper, while Hortense and 
Le Pont worked over their tapestries and Cecile 
read aloud. Oh, Jean, I was only thirteen last 
week, but I feel older than any of them now. It 
makes me so sad when I see Le Pont doing the 
tapestry lilies on the screen that she has been work¬ 
ing on for four years in the summers at Les Vignes, 
and remember how different it all was when she 
began it.” Marie Josephine choked back a sob. 

“Yes, but tell me what it is that you are thinking 
about,” insisted Jean, as Pince Nez lighted suddenly 
on his shoulder and gave his ear a friendly little 
peck. “You are thinking of Madame your mother 
and of Monsieur Lisle, is it not so?” As he said 
this, he came over to the fire and stood beside her, 
frowning. 

“I do not know whether to tell you or not-” 

Marie Josephine began, but she was interrupted 
by Jean’s angry words: 

“You are going to say again that I am a baby 
and I will not bear it. Did I not fight my cousin 



167 


Pigeon Valley Again 

Grigge for the sake of you all, this very day?” 
Jean gulped down a sob and wiped his eyes with 
the sleeve of his black smock. 

Marie Josephine patted his shoulder reassur¬ 
ingly. 

“You were splendid, a real friend. I was proud 
of you. Yes, I am going to tell you. I have a plan 
which I must carry out.” She sat down on the 
settle, holding the sides of her cape with both hands, 
and looked across at him. “When the spring comes, 
Jean,” she went on, “I am going to”—her voice 
sank to a whisper—“Paris.” 

Jean’s face went blank with astonishment. “You 
do not mean it! Why you would never be allowed, 
never in the world. They would never let you go!” 
he exclaimed. 

“Don’t be stupid, Jean. They will know nothing 
about it. It is a secret.” 

“It is not safe to go! You could not do it! 
You are only a little girl. It would be bad enough 
for me, who am a boy.” Jean enjoyed saying this 
very much and he felt suddenly the older and more 
experienced of the two. He had felt so ever since 
his fight with Grigge in the morning. 

“I tell you that I will go. You cannot under¬ 
stand, for I can tell you only a little of why I am 
going,” she answered, frowning at him with her 
straight, black eyebrows which were so like the old 
comte’s. 

“It is not safe to go. The peddler, who told us 


168 


Red Caps and Lilies 

of the king’s death, said it was not safe. He said 
to go to Paris was to endanger one’s life!” pro¬ 
tested Jean, his eyes growing bigger and bigger 
with excitement. 

“The peddler said many things that were not 
true. Le Pont is sure that he could not have spoken 
the truth. No one would hurt me. I am not 
afraid,” she answered stoutly. “Maman and Lisle 
are in Paris. Have you forgotten Dian’s story 
about the prince in the dungeon. He has gone to 
help them, and so must I.” 

“What could you do for them?” Jean was so 
deeply interested that he spoke loudly, and Marie 
Josephine held up her hand warningly. 

“You must be silent about all this; it is to be a 
great secret between us.” She shook her finger 
at Pince Nez, who had perched himself on the top 
of Mother Barbette’s four-poster bed. “You are 
not to tell either, you naughty creature. I do not 
trust you. I think you are a witch in disguise!” 

This seemed so funny to Jean that he fairly 
doubled up with laughter, rocking back and forth 
and chuckling loudly. He was so excited that it 
made him laugh all the harder and his mother, who 
at this moment opened the door, stood and gazed 
at him in astonishment. 

“Why, you silly cabbage, you laugh like a clown. 
He is indeed a foolish feather head, is he not, 
Little Mademoiselle?” Mother Barbette put her 


Pigeon Valley Again 169 

arm tenderly about Marie Josephine and she hid 
her face on the broad, kind shoulder. 

“It is so dark and cold. Will summer ever come ?” 
she said. Mother Barbette gave a reassuring little 
laugh. 

“Surely summer is coming, Little Mademoiselle, 
and with it the sunshine”—and her voice faltered 
a little as she went on—“and the dear ones who 
are away!” 

Something in Mother Barbette’s words com¬ 
forted Marie Josephine. She gave her a hug and 
said: “I love you, Mother Barbette. I must run 
back now, for, as it is, I know that I shall be well 
scolded by Le Pont for being out after dark.” 

“Jean shall go with you through the wood, though 
there is never any fear for any one in our woods 
at Les Vignes, thank the kind God,” said Mother 
Barbette fervently. She stood in the low-arched 
doorway of the cottage watching the two children 
as they made their way toward their favorite wood 
path which led to the great house on the terrace. 

The two friends ran a little of the way and then 
suddenly Jean stopped in the middle of the path and 
caught Marie Josephine’s cloak in both his hands. 
A wild rabbit scudded through the snow, popping 
behind a glistening, frost-tinted bush. Jean called 
after it, and then turned back to look at his friend. 

“Listen, Little Mademoiselle. Don’t you know 
what I must do? When you go away to Paris in 
the spring I must go with you.” He, too, lowered 


170 


Red Caps and Lilies 

his voice to a whisper, and he looked back over 
his shoulder, as though he feared that his mother 
might be right behind them, listening. 

Marie Josephine took him by the shoulders and 
gave him a little shake. “You will not go. Not 
for anything in the world would I let you go. Do 
you think I would be such an ungrateful girl as that 
to Mother Barbette? You are never to speak of 
it again—never!” Marie Josephine was so ex¬ 
cited that she had to take a deep breath before 
she could go on. “Oh, if only you could! But we 
must never, never talk of It again!” Her eyes 
glowed as she spoke, and there was a glad, warm 
feeling in her heart. It was good to have a friend 
like Jean, even though he seemed so young for 
twelve and a half and knew so little of the world 
beyond Les Vignes! 

They reached the wide sweep of terrace and she 
turned to him quickly. “I must run, for I am sure 
they will be angry because it is dark. Le Pont has 
grown so fussy and afraid. She cries a great deal, 
too. Thank you for saying you would go with me. 
It can never, never be done. It would be unfair 
and dishonorable of me to let you go. A Saint 

Frere could not do such a thing- But it would 

have been fun!” 

She was off, running across the terrace like a wild 
rabbit. The governess was standing at the top 
of the veranda steps. Marie Josephine could see 
that she was frowning. 



171 


Pigeon Valley Again 

“You make it so much harder for me these days, 
Marie Josephine,” she said, holding her dark satin 
cloak close about her. The wind swept across the 
porch, making the dry, frozen lily stalks at the 
side of the house crackle oddly. “I am never at 
ease about you. You never seem to be in the house. 
To-morrow you will stay inside all day, and you 
will do extra lessons. You are disobedient and 
thoughtless!” After she had spoken Madame le 
Pont went into the house. 

Bertran did most of the talking at supper. He 
tried to make Marie Josephine quarrel with him, 
but she did not seem to mind his teasing as she gen¬ 
erally did. She despised Bertran. He was four¬ 
teen and yet he did nothing but ride and dance. 
Ah, if only he were a brave knight who could go to 
Paris and help Lisle! There was instead only little 
Jean. Her heart warmed toward Jean as she sat 
next to Cecile in the long drawing-room after 
supper. She watched Neville as he went about 
lighting the candles. He was dressed in the scarlet 
and white livery of the old Paris days and his white 
wig was tied back with a black ribbon. She had 
asked him again and again to tell her all that he 
knew. He had assured her, with all honesty, that 
he had left her mother and Lisle safe and well at 
the Paris house, and that there was no need for 
her to be alarmed. But she knew that he did not 
believe that they were not in danger, and she 


172 Red Caps and Lilies 

guessed that he was thankful that Dian had gone to 
them. 

Marie Josephine put her head against Cecile’s 
shoulder and looked into the fire with half-closed 
eyes. Denise was singing at the old spinnet and 
Bertran was trying to join in, but his voice sounded 
as though any moment it would crack. It was an 
old country song and there was something plaintive 
and charming about it. 

“Bergere legere, je crains tes appas, 

Mon ame s’enflame, mais tu n’aimes pas!” 

Le Pont thought of her only as a naughty little 
girl. Dear Cecile, her heart was sad; yet she could 
do nothing but work on her tapestry and pray for 
her loved ones who were in peril. But she, Marie 
Josephine, was going away alone to a great city, 
into the heart of a revolution! She was going in 
the spring! 


Chapter XIV 


WHAT LISLE PUT IN THE CAKE 

“Tell me some more, please. See, I will blow 
the fire and make a blaze.” Vivi spoke pleadingly, 
as she picked up some pieces of a broken basket and 
put them on the low fire in the tiny, rusty grate. 

“You tell me something, Vivi. I’ve talked and 
talked, and now I want to know about you. Have 
you always lived here in the alley? Let’s sit close 
together to keep warm, and let’s talk.” 

Rosanne drew the velvet table cover close about 
them and they hitched the cot as near the fire as they 
could without getting up. 

Vivi shook her head. 

“What is there for me to tell, Mademoiselle? It 
is you who have done everything. I have done noth¬ 
ing. I have lived with my father always, here in 
the alley. Winter and summer I have lived here. 
In the summer I go out and play in the streets. 
There is always some fun about the gates. We 
used to catch rides on the market carts, and that 
was the most fun of all. Sometimes we would ride 
way out into the country. But those times are over, 
for now no one may go in and out of the city without 
173 


174 


Red Caps and Lilies 

a pass, and there is always shouting and fighting 
around the gates.” 

It was a fortnight since Humphrey Trail had 
brought Rosanne to Vivi. Their acquaintance had 
progressed by leaps and bounds. Shut in from the 
winter cold and terrors of the city, it was small 
wonder that they were drawn together. The days 
had been long, the only excitement being the arrival 
of Humphrey with food and good cheer. But he 
always had to shake his head when Rosanne asked 
for news of Lisle. He did not let her see how he 
himself was worried to distraction over the boy; 
instead he always had a word of encouragement. 
They would have a clue soon. He was probably 
safe enough. Yet all the while, night and day, he 
was going over in his mind the few things that he 
knew about Lisle. Where was he? How to find 
him? These were the grave questions always before 
Humphrey Trail! 

This particular February night he was feeling 
discouraged, and for that reason pretended to be 
more than usually cheerful before the two girls. He 
found them sitting on the cot close to the fire and 
spoke to them merrily. 

“What would tha say to a bit o’ sweet cake! 
Humphrey Trail will bring tha some. Tha shall 
see!” 

Vivi smiled delightedly. 

“A real cake from a bakery shop; one with 
cherries,” she pleaded. 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 175 

“Bring news of Lisle, Humphrey Trail,” Rosanne 
said. Her brown eyes looked very big in her small, 
white face. 

Above all things he must see that the little girl 
kept her cheer and courage. “Tha’ll be running 
races with him some day in the land o’ Yorkshire,” 
he said as he threw his cloak over his shoulder and 
went out. 

He stood uncertainly for some moments on the 
corner of the rue Saint Antoine in a swirl of snow. 
Sounds of rough, brawling voices came down the 
dark street. The snow was black with the ashes and 
smoke from near-by forges where guns were being 
made for the army. Humphrey stepped inside a 
small cafe at the end of the street and, seating him¬ 
self at a rude table near the door, ordered a glass 
of hot ale. He had never attempted any disguise. 
He was just an honest farmer and taken for such 
by any one who took the trouble to notice him. Few 
would have thought him to be other than French 
until they heard him speak. There were many out- 
of-towners in the city at that time, market farmers, 
well-to-do villagers, all eager to join in the talk and 
wrangle of the day, each with his own especial plan 
or grievance, all ardent Republicans. 

Humphrey listened to a group who sat near him, 
rough, unkempt men of the Saint Antoine district. 
He had made it a practice, during the last fortnight, 
of dropping in here and there and listening to the 
talk going on around him. He sipped his hot ale, 


176 


Red Caps and Lilies 

listening intently, but his knowledge of French was 
so meager that he could only catch a word here and 
there. 

“They think they’re mighty fine, those aristos 
living snugly in their grand houses in the country. 
They think their fields and cattle and their hired 
slaves will save them. Well, they’ll sing another 
song soon. They’ll not stay long in hiding. They’ll 
be hunted out, root and branch, all of them!” 

Loud laughter and applause greeted the end of 
this harangue. After putting down the coins to pay 
for his drink, Humphrey went out into the wintry 
night He had heard something which gave him 
food for thought, and he felt that it would ease his 
mind to walk about the city. He was restless, but 
his discouragement had given place to alertness. 
There was so much to do that he had not a moment 
for brooding. For a week or more he had been 
wondering how it was with Lisle’s family at Pigeon 
Valley. The day after Lisle’s disappearance he had 
gone to the Marquise du Ganne’s house. Rosanne 
knew the house well, having gone there on state 
occasions with Marie Josephine. She was able to 
give Humphrey a fair idea of how to find it. She 
told him that the coat of arms on the door was dif¬ 
ferent from that of the Saint Freres’. It was a shield 
with two swords crossed in the middle. He had 
found the house, but he had found, also, two soldiers 
of the Republic stationed in front of it. He had 
stopped and spoken to them. 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 


111 


“Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, citizen,” he had 
said, and they had answered, “Liberty, Equality, 
Fraternity, citizen.” 

“You have a chilly day for doing naught but 
standing still,” he went on. They had laughed at 
his attempt to speak their Paris French, and one of 
them had replied: 

“We are watching a nest to see that the birds do 
not fly away, citizen.” 

Then he had gone on as unconcernedly as he 
could. So Lisle’s mother and his Great-aunt Hor- 
tense were prisoners, too! 

Humphrey was thinking over this occurrence of a 
fortnight ago, as he walked toward the Place de la 
Bastille. He had gone back twice since to a vantage 
point where he could see the Du Ganne house with¬ 
out being observed himself. Both times he had seen 
the soldiers. He was thankful that Rosanne was 
safe for the present, at least. He was slowly 
trying to prepare a way of escape when the time 
should come that he could get away, but he knew 
that unless he could take the children, Lisle and 
Rosanne, with him, he would never go. He would 
not go alone. 

The skipper of the schooner Sandlass, Anastasius 
Grubb, was a Yorkshire friend of his. He had 
made the voyage across from England with his 
crony, and he had waved him a smiling good-by 
from the shore. But that was some time ago now 
and Anastasius was as far away and unattainable as 


178 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the stars, or so it seemed to Humphrey on that raw 
February night! 

He walked on toward the rue Saint Honore, 
drawing up the wide collar of his coat as the sting¬ 
ing wind blew about him. At last he turned in at 
the gilded door of the bakery at 126 rue Saint 
Honore. Its blue and silver sign was flapping in 
the wind. 

When he came inside he saw the bakery woman 
talking across the counter with a boy who carried a 
basket of vegetables. 

“Tell your master that I say he is getting almost 
too fine for his old friends, judging by the cake he 
has ordered for next week!” the woman was saying, 
and the boy answered: 

“It’s not for himself. It’s for the seed merchant 
where we stay when we come in with produce. Some 
of his friends are coming together next week for a 
dispute and supper!” 

The bakery woman shrugged her shoulders. 

“That’s all they do, waste good time chattering 
like a set of magpies. Well, they’ll have the cake, 
never fear! Now you can go to the back and take 
a cup of coffee and a croissant, if you’ve a mind to. 
Only do get that big basket out of the way, and 
quickly, too. You’re right in front of a customer.” 

The boy went through the shop to the back where 
he found himself in the midst of general confusion. 

Humphrey selected a good-sized sponge cake 
topped with almond icing. It was expensive and he 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 179 

counted out his coins ruefully. He did not have a 
great deal of money and he knew that he must save 
enough for bribes, if need be. He took the package 
of cake from the woman, who gave him only a pass¬ 
ing look, and went out. 

Raoul, the farmer’s boy, helped himself to a 
steaming cup of coffee from a tall, white jug on 
the table in the back room and selected a nicely 
browned croissant from the plate beside the jug. 
Then he shoved his basket over to one side and 
looked about for a place to rest and eat. He had 
been on his feet all day, and he was glad of the pros¬ 
pect of a bite to eat and, perhaps, a nap. Beyond 
the pantry room, at one side, were the kitchens, 
from which issued a savory odor of baking and the 
jangle of many voices; on the other side, at the back, 
was something that looked like a storeroom. On 
going into the storeroom, Raoul found that it was 
filled with old boxes, bundles of paper, a broken 
chair or two, and some tubs. 

He sat down on a dingy settle without a back, 
in a dim corner of this junk room. At the other end 
of the room was a short stairway leading to a 
narrow gallery. The remains of an old bureau and 
some more boxes were heaped up on the little gal¬ 
lery. Raoul sipped his hot, sweet coffee and munched 
his croissant. The warmth from the baking kitchens 
and the quiet after his busy day made him drowsy, 
and soon he was fast asleep. 

He woke suddenly and sat up. The bakery 


180 


Red Caps and Lilies 

woman was climbing the stairway, carrying a tray. 
When she reached the gallery she put the tray down 
on the floor in front of a door which faced her. 
Taking some keys from her waist she unlocked the 
door and then picked up the tray. At that moment, 
through the half-open door, Raoul caught sight of 
a boy, who sat facing him on a window ledge in a 
corner of the room. 

Raoul rubbed his eyes. He was not one to fancy 
things. Surely he was awake and not dreaming! 
He had seen a boy sitting on a window ledge in an 
otherwise unused room back of the storeroom. He 
had seen him distinctly. The light from a window 
behind had shone upon the boy’s fair hair. He saw 
the bakery woman unlock the door upon going in, 
and he knew she had locked it again when she went 
inside. He had heard the lock click. The boy in 
the room must be a prisoner! 

Raoul picked up his basket of vegetables and went 
quickly out, unnoticed by the bustling groups in the 
kitchens and pantry. 

After she had bolted the door, the woman crossed 
the room, and, putting the tray down on the window 
sill beside her prisoner, surveyed him, her hands on 
her hips. Lisle returned her gaze unconcernedly. 

“A nice, grateful kind of boy you are, to be sure! 
Here I leave my patrons and my shop to come up 
here with good, fresh milk brought straight from 
the country by a market gardener, and crisp cakes 
baked in my own oven this very day, and never so 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 181 

much as a ‘Thank you’ from you for all my pains. 
Name of a name, but you’re a proud one!” 

Lisle did not show any emotion at the bakery 
woman’s words, and that is what she could not 
understand. He had been snatched away from his 
own home, this young aristocrat, at night in the 
midst of a storm, and was a prisoner here in this 
little room at the back of her bakery shop, held 
under lock and key, his destination unknown. For 
all he knew, he might be delivered up at any moment 
to the Revolutionary Tribunal, which made short 
work of aristocrats, old or young. Yet he could 
look at her unconcernedly with his cold blue eyes. 
Well, she had had nothing to do with the whole busi¬ 
ness, except that it was her task to feed the prisoner. 
She was not without a heart, and she saw that the 
food was good. She had no use for aristocrats, old 
or young—let them have their just deserts!—but 
she could not see the sense of keeping the boy shut 
up. Her husband did not confide his plans to her, 
but she guessed that there was money in his scheme, 
money or official position in one of the sections. 
These sections had sprung up all over the city, and 
each one hoped, in time, to make the laws of the 
country. No doubt her husband was keeping the lad 
until the right moment for handing him over to the 
Revolutionary Tribunal. He would be a ripe plum 
to present. That was their game. She was sure 
of it! 


182 


Red Caps and Lilies 

The prisoner was speaking to her. 

“I wish to ask you a question. Could you tell me 
if there is any other prisoner in this place beside 
myself?” 

Lisle asked the question simply enough, but he 
listened eagerly for the woman’s answer. His un¬ 
winking gaze held her eyes as she replied: 

“There is no one else. Do you think I make a 
jail out of my good bakery? No! I’ve plenty to 
do to feed the gay birds who come flocking in these 
days. They think they’re all very fine, good Repub¬ 
licans they call themselves, but to my mind their 
heads are not any too safe on their shoulders. Each 
one has his turn these days, and the mob is none too 
fond of fine clothes!” She walked toward the door 
as she spoke, and as she opened it, she said over her 
shoulder: 

“You’ll do well to eat the cakes. They’re made- 
leines, you know, the kind you bought when you used 
to come to the bakery.” 

He smiled as he answered her. “I’ll eat them, 
every one,” he said. 

He sat for a long time on the window sill, his 
hands clasped about his knees, thinking. He still 
wore the blue velvet suit in which he had been 
dressed on the night of his abduction. The woman 
brushed it for him each night. The fresh linen that 
she brought him each day was coarse. She did not 
ask him to wear the shabby trunks and smock which 


fVhat Lisle Put in the Cake 183 

her husband had given her for him; but there was a 
streak of romance in her, and she admitted to her¬ 
self that she liked to see the boy sitting there on the 
sill, in his velvet suit, and with the flare of ribbon at 
the back of his neck. He was different from any one 
that had ever been in her life, like some one in a 
book of fairy tales. 

Lisle was thinking deeply, while he drank the 
glass of milk and ate the cakes. He went over in 
his mind the events of a fortnight ago—his sudden, 
unbelievable capture, the rush through the fury of 
the storm, then warmth, the smell of baking, this 
room, and the bakery woman! He had never seen 
his captors. They had left him blindfolded inside 
the room, and the woman had come in shortly after¬ 
ward ! 

He knew that the bakery woman was kind and 
he was grateful to her. He knew that as a prisoner 
he might have had to suffer physically in ways that 
he would have found it hard to bear. Here there 
was no filth or misery. There was good food and 
a comfortable bed. There was even a little mouse 
who came out and wabbled its nose at him now and 
then. He particularly enjoyed this because he had 
read stories in which prisoners made friends with 
mice and rats. It made his captivity more interest¬ 
ing to him. He felt certain that the bakery woman 
would not lift a finger to help him to escape, and 
he was right. She was not of the stuff of which 


184 


Red Caps and Lilies 

heroines are made. She would not do anything to 
change the peaceful, even course of her bakery exist¬ 
ence. No, he must not look to her for more than 
everyday comfort! Where, then, could he look? 

He thought constantly of Rosanne, more so than 
of his mother, for he knew where his mother was, 
or, at least, where she was supposed to be, while 
of Rosanne he knew nothing at all, except that he 
had left her singing in the salon when he went to 
the cellar for the wood. More than anything else 
he longed to know that she was safe. He did not 
dare to mention her to the bakery woman, because 
he did not want to call attention to her at all. There 
was nothing then that he could do, but wait. 

He asked the bakery woman for ink and a pen 
soon after his coming. She had protested at first, 
but had finally brought him a dish of ink and a long, 
fine quill pen. She herself used such articles only 
for her accounts, writing not being one of her best 
accomplishments. Lisle had explained to her why 
he wanted them. 

“There is nothing to do, don’t you see ? Nothing. 
I have no books, and you have none to give me. All 
prisoners have written accounts of their life in 
prison. It is always done, and it will give me some¬ 
thing to think about!” he had said to her, and she 
had brought what he wanted, when she had come up 
again with his food. He had begun a sort of diary, 
and once when the mouse came out from his hole 
and winked at him while he was writing, he felt as 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 


185 


though he might be a part of an old novel. He was 
a prisoner writing his diary, and his one friend was 
a mouse! 

These were his happier moments. There were 
other times when he realized his dire position so 
vividly that it seemed as though he must pound and 
tear at the door until somehow he smashed it open, 
but he knew that it would never give way. He knew 
that his mother had gone to Great-aunt Hortense. 
More than that he could not know, and he dared 
not think too much about his people. When he 
thought of Pigeon Valley, he found that it was Dian 
who stood out among all others. 

Meanwhile, Dian had walked the city from one 
end to another, making friends as was his wont. He 
became acquainted with the market gardener and 
went about with him to meetings of the different 
sections. Now and then he spoke at the meetings. 
When he spoke, the wrangling generally ceased for 
a moment, and the people listened—but only for a 
moment. They had no use for the message of love 
that he had to give. Yet they showed no animosity 
when his gentle, earnest face was seen among the 
crowds and at public meetings. He never once lost 
faith in his belief that the right way would be shown 
him. He was grateful that he had met Raoul and 
his master, for being with them meant being with 
the people, mingling with them freely. He had 
never gone through the Saint Frere house again, as 
he did not wish to run the risk of meeting Henri. 


186 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Each night he slept in the hidden cellar and it was 
there that he thought everything out. As he paced 
up and down the rough, uneven floor, Dian thought 
that he would give up all that the future held for 
him of peace and quiet days to have Lisle walking 
beside him. 

When the bakery woman came in to see Lisle 
the next afternoon she brought with her the cake 
she had baked for the seed shopman’s party. The 
boy, Raoul, was to come for it at four o’clock. Her 
man was going to the supper. There was to be 
roasted suckling pig. Indeed, it was to be a fine 
affair and much discussion was to take place. 

“They’ll talk, but they won’t get anywhere; they 
never do,” sniffed the woman as she set the cake 
down on the table. It was already placed in its wide 
green box, and it was surrounded by soft pink paper. 

It was a superb, a fantastic cake—four tiers of 
golden fluff, with glimpses of cream and marrons 
between layers and a gauze covering of spun sugar 
holding it all in place. It was topped with a glitter¬ 
ing icing. The icing was festooned with candied 
apricots and cherries, in the midst of which stood a 
little spun-sugar figure wearing a tiny scarlet cap 
decorated with a tri-color rosette, the emblem of the 
revolution! 

The bakery woman was proud of her cake and she 
did not attempt to conceal her pride. She pushed 
one side of the fine paper away so that Lisle' could 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 


187 


see it in all its glory. Lisle was glad to show his 
gratitude to the bakery woman for her kindness, 
by expressing an interest in her cake. He was quick 
to see beauty and cleverness, and he looked at the 
cake with appreciation. “Magnificent!” he ex¬ 
claimed. Something in his sincere admiration, con¬ 
trasting with the dire peril of his situation, touched 
the bakery woman so much that the tears came to 
her eyes. She turned away, saying, “I’ll see if I can 
make your cot more comfortable.” 

She crossed the room, wiping her eyes with the 
back of her hand as she went. 

It was then that the thought came to Lisle, and 
he knew that he must act quickly. He picked up the 
quill pen and wrote these words on a scrap of paper: 

“I am Lisle Saint Frere, and I am a prisoner in 
the bakery shop at 128 rue Saint Honore.” 

He folded the paper and thrust it far back in the 
corner of the box, almost under the cake. While he 
did this he watched the bakery woman, whose back 
was toward him, as she smoothed the blankets of his 
cot. When she turned around, he was sitting as 
usual on the window seat. As she came up to him, 
he nodded toward the cake. 

“You are a genius. I have never seen a cake like 
it, even at my mother’s soirees!” he said. 

“It is a cake! Sacre bleu, it is a cake!” the bakery 
woman exclaimed. 

“It might be for a banquet of the gods!” said 


188 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Lisle, leaning forward and giving it another look. 
As he did so, the picture of past days in the school¬ 
room at home rose before him—Le Pont reading 
about Olympus, Marie Josephine pulling Denise’s 
hair when the governess was not looking, Hortense’s 
bored expression as she unwillingly took notes for 
a composition they were to write on the “Iliad.” A 
feeling of hopelessness came over him, but he smiled 
one of his rare smiles as he spoke to the woman. 
She put the green cover on the box and fastened the 
paper all about it with a gilt cord. 

“There are no gods now but liberty and fra¬ 
ternity, they say, but I say there’s too much lawless¬ 
ness, too much fighting and drinking, when every 
one needs a sober head. That’s what I say!” The 
woman shrugged her shoulders, lifted the box and 
walked toward the door. “This cake is going to 
them that have never tasted anything like it before. 
No one needs to say, because I’ve risen in the world 
I forget them that hasn’t.” As she said this, the 
bakery woman went out and closed the door. 

The seed shopman, whose name was Soufflot, sur¬ 
veyed his room with pride. It was the storeroom of 
the seed shop. All along the center of the room 
were two rows of rude benches put together to make 
one long table. The walls were festooned from 
one end to the other with tri-color rosettes and 
streamers. At the far end of the room was a great 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 189 

banner upon which were the words “Liberty, Equal¬ 
ity, Fraternity, or Death” in bright red, white, and 
blue letters. 

The seed shopman had little enough to offer in 
the way of refreshment, his own nourishment con¬ 
sisting of black bread and lentil soup; but he was 
fortunate in having friends from the country. 
Raoul’s master had brought a couple of suckling pigs 
and had ordered a superb cake from the famous 
bakery on the rue Saint Honore! 

There were rows of tin plates along each side of 
the improvised table, and jugs of thin red wine were 
placed at intervals down the middle. From an inner 
room came the smell of sizzling, roasted pig. The 
cake sat in the center of the table. It was of so 
regal an aspect that it seemed to have no part with 
its surroundings. 

A clock somewhere near the West Barricade 
struck nine. It was time for the guests to arrive. 
Just then, the market gardener, who had contributed 
largely to the feast, entered the room, Raoul at his 
heels. Towering behind them, his grey cloak wrapt 
close about him, hatless, and with the breath of 
fields and woods that seemed always to hover mys¬ 
teriously about him, was Dian! 

“I’ve brought in a man from the farmlands. He 
met up with the boy, Raoul. He’s a shepherd and 
he’s new to the city. He went to a sitting of the 
convention last night and spoke some good words, 
but those fools wouldn’t listen to him,” said the 


190 


Red Caps and Lilies 

market gardener. Having donated the pigs and 
potatoes and the cake for the feast, he felt at liberty 
to bring in whom he pleased to partake of it. 

Soufflot gave Dian a hearty welcome. His greet¬ 
ing was interrupted by the loud trampling of feet 
and the jangle of rough voices on the stairs, and the 
next moment the party arrived! 

It was a noisy meal after the first hunger had 
been appeased. The guests, whose food consisted 
daily of black bread and garlic washed down with 
poor wine, ate enormously, declaring that they never 
knew that roasted pig could taste so good. 

When at last they had had enough of the pig, 
they sat back and began to talk. 

“The aristocrats are going, going, going! The 
guillotine is doing good work. But we must find 
them all, we must not let any escape! Some of 
them are getting away in spite of us, but, for the 
most part, they’re safe under lock and key or, better 
still, minus their thinking caps!” 

There was a loud laugh at the end of the seed 
shopman’s remark, followed by a moment’s hush 
as Soufflot’s wife lifted the great cake and began to 
pass it around the table. It was so magnificent, as 
Lisle had said, that it fairly took one’s breath away. 
Most of the guests—tailors, blacksmiths, and tan¬ 
ners from the Saint Antoine district—were in awe 
of it, but after one taste they fell to with ardor. It 
was good! Ah, but it was delicious, that cake from 
the bakery on the rue Saint Honore! 


What Lisle Put in the Cake 191 

It was slow work passing it about the table, for 
it was heavy to carry. As Soufflot’s wife had no 
china dish to put it on, she had left it in its green box. 
Raoul regarded it yearningly. Would it ever reach 
him! He had thought often of the boy in the room 
above the junk room at the back of the bakery, but 
he had not spoken of him to any one. He knew 
that it was best to keep a quiet tongue in one’s head 
and he had no desire at all to get himself into 
trouble. It was no concern of his! He eyed the 
cake gloatingly, and turning to Dian, who sat next 
to him, he exclaimed: “How big it is! Madame 
Saufflot cuts big wedges for everyone but still it 
seems immense!” 

His turn had come and he eyed his portion de¬ 
lightedly. He lifted the big piece in both hands and 
delved into it, smearing his round face with cream. 

Dian took the rusty, uneven knife and lifted out 
his slice as Soufflot’s wife passed it to him. Then 
she went on to the next man. Dian took his cake in 
his hand, and, as he did so, he saw a stiff piece of 
paper stuck tight to the melting sugar. It was heavy 
and firm like writing paper, otherwise it would have 
turned to a pulp, as the softer paper about the cake 
had done. Dian unfolded it without thinking and 
saw the writing on it. He glanced about him. 
Everyone was deep in his cake and the discussion. 

He read the words written upon it. 

“I am Lisle Saint Frere, and I am a prisoner in 
the bakery shop at 128 rue Saint Honore.” 


192 


Red Caps and Lilies 

He crushed the paper between his fingers, grind¬ 
ing it to bits with his nails. Then he sat silently 
in the midst of the hubbub going on about him, his 
head bowed over his clasped hands and in his heart 
a prayer of gratitude. 


Chapter XV 


“SHE IS LIKE OUR LITTLE 
MADEMOISELLE” 

It was the first of March and there was a hint of 
spring about in spite of the bleakness of the streets 
and the chilliness of the air, a faint suggestion of 
warm winds coming, of new budding snowdrops and 
wood violets. Humphrey Trail was homesick. He 
wanted to see the first film of green over his York¬ 
shire moors, to hear the call of mating birds, and 
feel the busy, stealthy stir of wild things in the 
bracken and across the downs. 

During the few weeks of winter that Rosanne had 
been with her, little Vivi had been content to stay in¬ 
side ; but now that the ice was melting and the robins 
were singing in the Bois, Vivi wanted to be out in 
the Paris that she knew, even in the midst of its 
terror. There was nothing for her to fear. Hum¬ 
phrey knew that he had no right to keep her a 
prisoner, and as they walked toward the West Bar¬ 
ricade, he felt heavy at heart. They had left Ros¬ 
anne locked up in the little room with Minuit to 
keep her company. There was nothing new for 
him to work upon, no hint of Lisle’s whereabouts. 

193 


194 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Always the soldiers stood guarding the house of 
Lisle’s Great-aunt Hortense, the Marquise du 
Ganne. 

Vivi chatted happily, holding his big hand confi¬ 
dently. 

“Very soon now I’ll be selling licorice water near 
the gates. People will be very thirsty soon, and 
many can not afford the wine. I shall make a little 
trade every day.” 

It was early afternoon, and the sun shone bravely. 
Groups of men sauntered about, talking loudly, and 
soldiers of the Republic stood on guard close to the 
gates. Children, black with soot and raggedly clad, 
ran about, happy to get a breath of air after hours 
of work in a near-by forge, where they helped their 
mothers make waste for the guns. They danced 
about in the sunlight, twisting in and out in the dance 
that held all the mobs of Paris in its sway. As they 
danced, they sang in their high, weak voices: 

“Dansons la Carmagnole, 

Vive le son du canon!” 

Vivi knew some of these children. She ran up to 
them and soon was dancing with them, glad of the 
fresh air and the sun and to be out in the open 
again. Humphrey Trail spoke to one of the sol¬ 
diers who was standing near the gates. 

“A good day for the people, this. Long live the 
Republic!” he said. 

The soldier gave a loud laugh. 



Vivi 

































“She Is Like Our Little Mademoiselle” 195 

“You might be one of the five hundred from 
Provence by the way you speak. Sapristi! I swear 
I can not understand but a quarter of their jabber. 
Look out there, you young brat, you’re always bump¬ 
ing that basket around.” The soldier said this last 
to a boy, who, running and carrying his basket at 
the same time, flopped over on the ground, his head 
falling against the side of the basket and his whole 
face convulsed with laughter. It was Raoul, and as 
he was so often about the gate he knew all the sol¬ 
diers and he was not in the least afraid of this one. 

“What a funny man! Oh, dear! Oh, dear! I 
had a bet with Guy Soufflot that I would run into 
him and knock him over, just for the fun of seeing 
him tumble about like a rubber ball. What a funny 
man!” Raoul laughed up at Humphrey Trail as he 
spoke. 

“Is th’ so, my young lad, is th’ so? I’ll teach 
tha better manners with a good stout stick, an’ tha 
do not stay tha chatter!” exclaimed Humphrey 
Trail, justly indignant at Raoul’s impudence. In 
his excitement he spoke in English entirely, so the 
boy, who did not understand a word of what he 
said, only laughed the harder. 

“Oh, the funny fat man, and his funny way of 
speaking. Come here and listen to him!” he called 
to the Soufflot boy, who came running up to him. 
Raoul had arisen to his feet, putting his hand over 
his face as he rocked with laughter. 

Humphrey made a dive at him and, catching him 


196 


Red Caps and Lilies 

firmly by the arm, shook him until every tooth in 
his head rattled like a castanet. 

“I’ll teach tha to know respect for tha elders,” 
Humphrey cried. At that moment some one spoke 
close beside him and, turning, he saw so strange a 
person that involuntarily he took his. hands from 
Raoul’s shoulders and stared. The newcomer, a 
tall man, stood bare-headed in the sunshine, his red 
hair falling about his grave, beautiful face. It was 
Dian! 

“Whatever the lad has done he is sorry for it, and 
he meant no harm. I can answer for him, I know 
him,” said Dian. As he spoke he turned his clear 
eyes full upon Raoul, who looked sheepish and 
embarrassed. 

“He’s such a funny man,” he said half apolo¬ 
getically, reaching down and picking up his vegetable 
basket, a smile still lurking about his mouth. 

“You have taunted him about his looks in a public 
place, and he does not know enough of your own 
tongue to answer you in kind,” Dian said quietly. 
Then he turned and looked Humphrey Trail full in 
the face, and it seemed as though at once, without 
any need of word or explanation, the two were 
friends. Dian’s smile was good to see as he held 
out his hand and took Humphrey Trail’s broad one. 

“You are a stranger, I see from your speech, and, 
if I mistake not, you are English. You have come 
to our country at a sad time.” Dian spoke slowly 
and Humphrey understood all that he said and 


“She Is Like Our Little Mademoiselle” 197 


answered warmly, though he still glowered over his 
shoulder at Raoul, who was walking off with Guy 
Soufflot. He continued to grin as he moved on, but 
he did not call out again. Humphrey and Dian were 
left together there, in that momentarily quiet corner 
of the West Barricade. 

“I came to see a strange country last summer. 
I’d saved a bit o’ gold, and I wanted a sight o’ the 
world. Tha comes from the farmlands thaself, an’ 
I mistake not.” As Humphrey answered Dian he 
felt his temper cool rapidly. He looked at Dian’s 
bronzed face and grave blue eyes, and he felt a 
strong desire to confide in him, to tell him the whole 
story, of how he had remained in Paris to help Lisle, 
had rescued Rosanne, and was now in a vortex of 
worry as to what to do next. What he did say was: 
“I stayed because I thought I might help. There 
was a lad whom I thought needed me; and so he 
did, but I wasn’t about the while he needed me the 
most!” Something of poor Humphrey’s discourage¬ 
ment sounded in his voice. 

“There is a lad who needs me also,” Dian an¬ 
swered in his rich, sweet voice, his eyes shining with 
a deep gratitude. It was several days ago that he 
had found the note in the cake at the seed shopman’s 
supper, and he had known only thankfulness since. 
He had not gone into the bakery shop, though he 
had been near it often. He thought it best not to 
attract attention to himself there, and he waited for 
the moment when he should be able to get word to 


198 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Lisle in some way. Dian was not so amazed or 
bewildered at the wonderful way in which the mes¬ 
sage of Lisle’s whereabouts had come to him as 
another might have been. He had known so many 
things in his life to happen in just that way, and he 
trusted always. 

Vivi came running up to them and took Hum¬ 
phrey’s hand. She wore a ragged jacket over her 
drab dress, and her black, untidy hair flapped about 
her dark, eager little face. Dian smiled at her, and 
she smiled back at him, as all children did. 

“She is like some one that I know well,” he said 
to Humphrey Trail. 

“Now that is rare strange, for some one else has 
said the same,” Humphrey answered as the three 
made their way slowly from the west gate toward 
the city. 

Vivi was excited. She had played and danced 
and eaten a good piece of bread and garlic which 
one of the soldiers had given her. When Humphrey 
said with his few, slowly-chosen French words that 
some one else had said she was like a friend, she 
cried out unthinkingly: 

“Yes, yes, the little lady said so. She called out 
when you carried her in that night, ‘She’s a little 
like Marie Josephine!’ ” 

Dian stood still in the street, his hand on 
Humphrey’s arm. 

“Marie Josephine!” he repeated. “Marie Jose- 


“She Is Like Our Little Mademoiselle” 199 


phine! Are you speaking of the Little Mademoi¬ 
selle? I am shepherd to the Little Mademoiselle.” 

“The Little Mademoiselle!” Humphrey stared 
and stared at Dian, and so did Vivi. Rosanne had 
spoken of a shepherd. 

“The Little Mademoiselle!” This time it was 
Vivi who exclaimed, gazing up at Dian with her 
great black eyes. 

“Yes,” he said gently. “You are like some one 
we call the Little Mademoiselle, some one who is a 
long way from here.” 

Humphrey Trail turned so pale that his face 
looked not unlike the first glimpse of a full moon. 
Dian saw this and spoke to him with concern. 

“There is something that has surprised you, and 
your worry has upset you!” 

“Aye, I am fair flashed! Maybe it’s just the 
worry and the crowds.” He hesitated, and in that 
moment the angels must have been very near! 
Dared he take this stranger to the alley? Was he 
in some way a part of it all? Could it be, by the 
wildest chance, that the Little Mademoiselle was— 

But no-Humphrey Trail caught Dian’s arm and 

shook it. “As there is a God above, tell me I can 
trust tha,” he said, and the shepherd answered him 
at once: 

“You can trust me. It was meant to be so.” 

They walked through the rue Saint Antoine in 
silence, Humphrey Trail holding fast to Vivi’s 
hand on one side, Dian’s long, slow stride keeping 



200 


Red Caps and Lilies 

pace with their short, quick ones. They turned into 
the dark, dank alley. Humphrey opened the door 
which sagged on its hinges. They mounted the 
rickety stairs, waited while Humphrey unlocked the 
door, and then went inside, Vivi running ahead. 

Rosanne was standing by the fire which was 
smouldering sulkily in the rusty grate. She turned 
at the sound of the unlocking of the door, and was 
facing them when they entered. She saw Dian be¬ 
fore the other two, because he so towered above 
them. For a moment she stood still as a statue. 
Then with a cry that was like a sob she ran across 
the room to him. 


Chapter XVI 


MARIE JOSEPHINE IS READY 

Spring had come early in Paris. It was a fort¬ 
night since Dian had gone to the alley and found 
Rosanne, since the wonderful evening when they had 
sat by the poor little fire of broken boxes and talked 
and talked. There they were in the heart of a city 
that had gone mad, one of them in hiding to save 
her life, all of them in gravest danger if once their 
real purpose were known, but all of them so happy. 

When it was time for the two girls to go to sleep 
on their cot, Humphrey and Dian went up to the 
room above and sat, one on each side of the table, 
pondering what it was best to do. 

“Th’ lad is there in the bakery shop. Tha found 
his poor note in th’ cake. The Lord is good. What 
a way! Odds me, what a way!” Humphrey mut¬ 
tered to himself. His heart was full, but some of 
his burden had rolled away. This quiet shepherd 
of the valley was at hand to help. He knew where 
Lisle was imprisoned and they could take counsel 
together. 

Dian knew no English, and Humphrey’s French, 
as we know, was limited; but they managed to con¬ 
verse, and from the first they understood each other. 

201 


202 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“I have a friend of many a year who would be 
fair willin’ to help us with a boat. He’s a skipper 
of his own vessel, the Sandlass. They’ve made 
young master Lisle’s mother prisoner in her aunt’s 
house. It is not safe for any of the family to be in 
Paris,” said Humphrey. 

“It is not safe for any of the family to be in 
France, not for any of them.” Dian repeated the 
last words slowly, adding, “It soon may be unsafe in 
Pigeon Valley!” He was silent for a few minutes, 
and a deep gravity touched his face, an earnestness 
that was like a prayer. Then, as he looked across 
at Humphrey and saw the misery on his round face, 
he smiled his slow smile. 

“You have done well and you speak words of 
comfort. Tell me the name of your friend who 
owns the boat and write him a letter,” he said. 

Humphrey Trail looked at Dian in amazement. 

“His name is Anastasius Grubb. But what good 
will that do? Tha knows well there is no way to 
send a letter through the gates, or to be sure it will 
reach my friend!” he exclaimed. 

“I’ll see that the letter goes through the gates 
safely, and that it is given to the driver of the coach 
which goes nearest to the valley. I can trust him to 
give it into the hands of some one who will put it in 
the hands of your friend the skipper!” 

“Tha can do this? Tha can trust the letter to go 
through?” 

“Yes, trust,” Dian nodded as he spoke. 


203 


Marie Josephine Is Ready 

That was the conversation that Humphrey Trail 
and Dian held in the rat-haunted room in the alley. 

A fortnight later the first breath of spring that 
they had felt there in the sunshine by the West 
Barricade had deepened into joyousness in Pigeon 
Valley. A faint flare of green touched the tops of 
trees in the forest, and a gleam of mauve and gold 
showed the early budding of violets and crocuses. 
There was a happy carnival of song birds early 
every morning. The sun was warm at noontime, 
and the nights were softly luminous. 

There was spring everywhere, except in the hearts 
of the family at Les Vignes. There had been no 
arrival of the messenger for whom they had waited 
throughout the long winter. The comtesse had 
sent them no word, and that meant that she had not 
been able to do so. There had been rumors now 
and then, even direct news, of the horrors of Paris, 
brought by traveling peddlers, but there had been 
no news from Dian at all. 

It was of this that Marie Josephine was thinking 
as she put Great-aunt Hortense’s shawl around her, 
and walked down the staircase at Les Vignes. It 
had been the hardest thing to bear, not hearing from 
Dian. She had felt so sure that he would find a 
way to help. 

There was a look on Marie Josephine’s face 
which had never been there before, a seriousness in 
her eyes and about her mouth, a look of high pur- 


204 


Red Caps and Lilies 

pose and of dignity. Madame le Pont noticed it as 
she came into the salon. They were all sitting about 
a fire of crisply burning logs, for the spring nights 
were cold. 

“What is it, Marie Josephine?” she asked, and 
as she spoke the governess rose from her chair and 
came up to her. 

“What do you mean, Le Pont dear? What is 
what?” Marie Josephine said gently, and she put 
her arm around Madame Le Pont’s waist and placed 
her cheek close to hers for a moment. There was 
something so wistful in the action that the governess 
felt sudden tears springing to her eyes. 

“You are different in some way, cherie. You 
seem so—what shall I say—so very much a 
woman to-night.” Madame le Pont smiled as she 
spoke, for she knew that her remark would please 
her pupil greatly. She was surprised at Marie Jose¬ 
phine’s reply. 

“I was just thinking about that to-night—being 
a woman, I mean. I was wondering how it might 
have been”— her voice trembled a little as she spoke 
—“if we’d just gone on as we were, here and in 
Paris; if there hadn’t been a revolution, and just the 
same everyday things had continued to happen. I 
was wondering what kind of a ball I should have 
attended for my first one, and if I should have been 
a belle!” 

“You would have been as lovely as your Great- 


Marie Josephine Is Ready 205 

aunt Hortense when she was belle of Versailles,” 
put in Cecile from her seat by the fire. 

“You mean she will be. You speak as though all 
this were going on forever, Cecile,” said Hortense, 
fastening back a long curl with her tortoise-shell 
comb. 

“Let’s dance, Spitfire,” suggested Bertran, sliding 
across the room to her. 

Marie Josephine nodded. “Yes, I would like to 
dance. Will you play for us, Cecile?” 

Cecile stood up and went over to the spinnet. 

“I’d love to play. See if you can do a gavotte to 
the shepherd song I was trying yesterday. Do open 
the jalousie, Bertran, the moon is trying to shine 
in,” she said, seating herself at the old spinnet which 
had helped them all to while away the long evenings 
during the winter. Cecile needed all her courage 
these days, for the governess talked more freely to 
her than to the others, and she knew that things 
were coming to a serious pass at Les Vignes. The 
men on the place were leaving for the army. Most 
of them had already gone. There would be no one 
to till the ground. There was no one on whom they 
could rely, now that Dian had gone, except Neville, 
and his only idea of helping was to go again to Paris. 
Dian had gone and they had had no word. Neville 
must not leave them. 

Marie Josephine enjoyed her dance with Bertran. 
She wore the soft white silk brocade gown that had 
been made for her thirteenth birthday, and, like 


206 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Hortense, she had fastened her curls with a comb, 
a large gilt one of her mother’s which she had bor¬ 
rowed. When they finished, Marie Josephine made 
Bertran a deep curtsy. She waited until the others 
were talking and then slipped out of the room. She 
drew the thick red silk shawl closely about her as 
she stepped out on to the terrace. 

The moon was almost full, and its light seemed 
to bring out each leaf and twig of the great oak at 
the foot of the terrace steps with startling distinct¬ 
ness. As she stood there in the radiance of the 
moon, she thought she saw something move under 
the tree. Some one shrank back into the shadow 
and moved quickly into the deep underbrush. Marie 
Josephine waited. She knew that, if it really were 
any one, after he had gone through the shrubbery, 
she would see him cross the clearing that led to the 
forest. In a few moments she saw a woman pass 
rapidly through the clearing, making for the wood 
and going in the direction of the gates. The moon¬ 
light had fallen full upon her and there was some¬ 
thing vaguely familiar about her figure. Marie 
Josephine stood looking after her. Why was that 
figure so familiar? Who could it be? Why had 
she been hiding there in the shadow as though she 
were spying? 

Marie Josephine’s mind was so full of another 
thought that she did not dwell long on the apparition 
of the woman, whoever she might be, for more than 
a minute. Then she ran down the terrace steps and 


207 


Marie Josephine Is Ready 

disappeared in the direction of Mother Barbette’s 
cottage. As she had guessed, Mother Barbette her¬ 
self was not in the cottage. She had gone to one 
of the hovels to nurse a boy who had hurt his leg. 
Marie Josephine called softly: 

“Jean!” 

Jean was sitting on the stone doorstep, but she 
had not seen him in the shadow of the moon and tree 
branches. He jumped up and came running to her. 

“I’ve only come for a minute, Jean. Let’s sit 
on the doorstep. Isn’t the moonlight wonderful? 
We’ve had so much fun in the moonlight every sum¬ 
mer, haven’t we? We’ve been comrades, Jean, 
great friends!” Marie Josephine put out the back 
of her hand as she spoke, and Pince Nez, the crow, 
lighted on it with a croak. 

“Pince Nez will be two years old in June. Do 
you remember when Dian rescued him and brought 
him to the sheepfold? I can just see him now, lying 
on the shelf with his funny beak open.” Marie 
Josephine stroked the crow gently, and Pince Nez 
winked impudently. 

Jean was sitting in the shadow, and as Marie 
Josephine went on speaking, his eyes grew rounder 
and rounder! 

“We must always remember what friends we have 
been and be happy about it. You will grow to be a 
fine man, Jean. I am sure of that. You must always 
help Grigge. Dian would wish you to.” Marie 


208 Red Caps and Lilies 

Josephine paused and sat silently looking off at the 
black outline of the wood. 

Suddenly Jean jumped up and stood in front of 
her. 

“Tell me, Little Mademoiselle, tell me what you 
are thinking about.” 

“I am thinking how I love Pigeon Valley, Jean.” 
She jumped up also and put her hand on his arm. 
“I—oh, that’s all!” 

Jean spoke again, softly and quickly. 

“You are thinking of the plan, I know you are. 
You are going to do that—no, I won’t say it, but 
no one can hear us.” He lowered his voice to a 
whisper. “You are going to run away to Paris. I 
know you are!” 

They walked on through the wood path, and when 
they came to the sundial, she turned and faced him. 

“You are always making up mysteries, you funny 
boy,” she said. “I must run, for it’s past my bed¬ 
time. Good night, Jean!” she cried over her shoul¬ 
der. As she ran toward the house the hot tears 
chased down her cheeks. It was the hardest thing 
she had ever experienced, not telling Jean what she 
was going to do that very night! 

Cecile and Denise were sitting in front of a log 
fire in Cecile’s bedroom when Marie Josephine came 
in to say good night. Cecile was talking in her 
gentle way and she looked up smilingly when Marie 
Josephine came in. 

“I was telling Denise that we must make the best 


209 


Marie Josephine Is Ready 

of this wonderful spring weather, and we’ve been 
planning a picnic. What do you say to a lunch out 
of doors in the birch woods soon, and a violet pick¬ 
ing expedition afterward?” 

Marie Josephine nodded. Her tongue was dry, 
and for the moment she found it easier to nod than 
to speak. She had wiped away her tears from her 
face, but she felt them in her heart. 

Denise yawned and stood up. 

“I for one am sleepy. Bertran and I had a splen¬ 
did ride. It is stupid of Le Pont, though, not to 
let us go out of the demesne just because that bailiff 
person said it was not safe. Why, our roads about 
Les Vignes are the safest in the whole world! Good 
night; and let us each one dream of the true loves 
we are going to have!” Denise laughed gaily and 
twirled around on her blue satin bedroom slippers, 
their crystal buckles sparkling in the firelight. 

When she had gone, Marie Josephine sat down 
on the floor in front of the fire. 

“You look so perfectly dear to-night with your 
hair caught up that way, Marie Josephine. I can 
shut my eyes and see you as you’ll be four years 
from now. The red shawl becomes you, too. Just 
wait, you’ll have your true loves, I’m sure of that!” 
Cecile said, leaning back against the dark brocaded 
velvet chair. 

Marie Josephine turned toward her eagerly. “Do 
you really think so, Cecile? Ah, tell me,” as she 
went on speaking she came close up to Cecile’s chair, 


210 


Red Caps and Lilies 

kneeling with both hands on the arm of it, “Cecile, 
you will always love me. You’ll always trust me, 
won’t you?” There was something so intense in the 
look she gave her friend that Cecile leaned forward 
and gazed at her. 

“Why yes, yes, of course. What is it, Marie 
Josephine!” she exclaimed. 

“I—oh, nothing—that is, let me just give you a 
big hug.” Marie Josephine put both arms about 
her friend and hugged her. Then she jumped up 
quickly. 

“Prote will be tired waiting up for me. Good 
night, Cecile!” She ran over to the door, then 
turned and waved her hand toward Cecile, who 
waved back. Then she went to her own room. 

Prote tucked the bedclothes neatly about her 
when she said good night. She was one of those 
who could not think of Marie Josephine’s ever grow¬ 
ing up, and she spoke authoritatively as she blew out 
the candle. 

“You must be careful about the chill night air, 
Little Mademoiselle. It is not good, you know. 
Keep well covered, and do not, I beg of you, go over 
to the window to see the moon!” Prote’s round 
face was serious. She felt a great responsibility 
toward all the children, especially the youngest one, 
the Little Mademoiselle. 

“Come here a minute, you funny Prote. Now 
bend over and I’ll squeeze you tight. Prote, look 
at Trudle. Hasn’t she a smug face? Never let 


211 


Marie Josephine Is Ready 

them know that she sleeps with me. Can’t you 
fairly see their horror! ‘She is nearly fourteen and 
she sleeps with her doll!’ Prote cherie, you are a 
dear and I love you. Here’s one more squeeze! 
Good night.” 

Prote returned her charge’s embrace fervently, 
and then went over to the doorway. As she went 
out she looked back at the little figure in the great 
bed. 

“Good night, Little Mademoiselle. God guard 
you!” she said. 

Marie Josephine lay very still, the wooden-faced 
doll beside her. She heard a clock strike ten and 
then eleven, and after waiting a few moments, 
jumped lightly out of bed, and going over to the 
door, bolted it. Then, aided only by the moonlight 
streaming in through the wide casement near her 
bed, she went over to a cupboard and, standing on 
a chair, reached back as far as she could and lifted 
out a box. She jumped down and went over to the 
bed with the box and opened it. She drew out a 
shabby, rather soiled, black calico apron. She began 
to dress herself rapidly, discarding her lace-trimmed 
petticoat and putting on plain garments such as a 
peasant child would wear. Over them she put the 
black, smocklike apron. She went over to the dress¬ 
ing table, and opening a drawer, fished about until 
she found a pair of scissors. Then she began to 
clip her hair. It fell in soft, warm waves on to her 
shoulders and thence to the floor. When she had 


212 


Red Caps and Lilies 

finished, she looked into the glass and by the light 
of the moon was able to see herself plainly. 

She saw a pale little girl with big, black eyes, 
whose ragged, unkempt-looking black locks flapped 
about her face! She smiled into the glass and the 
forlorn, black-clad figure smiled back at her. Then 
she put on a warm, worn jacket with a torn sleeve, 
tucked a black handkerchief about her neck and 
tossed back her uneven wisps of black hair. She 
took a bundle from the box on the bed and, after 
one glance about the room, unbolted the door and 
went out, closing it softly behind her. 

She crept along the hall until she came to Madame 
Le Pont’s room. She stopped by the closed door 
and wrapped a note about the knob. After waiting 
a moment and listening, she went back to her own 
door. There was a whine and a scratch on the other 
side. It was Flambeau, who had slept soundly while 
she was dressing, but who had awakened and missed 
her. 

“Listen, Flambeau,” she breathed through the 
keyhole. “I’d love to take you with me, doggie, but 
I’m going where you couldn’t go. I want you and 

Jean to go along more than, more than-” Her 

voice trailed into a soft sob. This would never do. 
She turned away and ran silently and swiftly through 
the great house, unlocked a small door leading on to 
a little balcony over the rose garden, and jumped 
lightly down a distance of a few feet on to the soft 
new grass of the east terrace. 



213 


Marie Josephine Is Ready 

Then she was off like the wind, her bundle under 
her arm. She looked back once at the great house, 
so silver white under the moon. She entered the 
wood, so fresh and wild and sweet, on this early 
spring night. Startled wild things in the bushes 
stirred and scampered at her approach. She must 
do one thing—she must have one last look at 
Mother Barbette’s cottage. She stopped running 
as she caught sight of it through the budding trees. 
There it was, so warm and snug and red with its 
straight, quaint stone chimney, its neat stone door¬ 
step. Marie Josephine looked and looked at it as 
though she could never look long enough or hard 
enough. Then she turned and walked slowly away. 
As she entered the wood path again, she thought 
she saw something moving in the shadow. She had 
thought the same thing on her way to the cottage. 
She could not be frightened in her own woods of 
Les Vignes, but she started to run, and ran on and 
on, taking the cut through the hedge near the gates 
as Dian had done, and, like him, going to the huts. 
She did not knock as he had done, but put her mouth 
close to the keyhole. 

“Grigge!” she called, very softly. Almost before 
she knew it the door opened and Grigge’s gaunt, 
long face peered through the opening. When he 
saw Marie Josephine he came out and closed the 
door. He did not recognize her at first, and when 
she spoke his astonishment was so great that he 


214 


Red Caps and Lilies 

rubbed his eyes with his jacket sleeve and stared at 
her open-mouthed. 

“Listen, Grigge, I have only time to speak a word 
with you. I am going to find Dian, and to help him 
and the others, if I can. I want you to know. And, 
Grigge,” she came a step closer and looked up at 
him earnestly, “I feel that you can do so much here 
among the people. For Dian’s sake, help us now. 
I know that everyone is leaving us, and that there is 
wild talking in the barns and through the fields. 
Grigge, I know that you have nothing to be grateful 
for to us, but will you not help us now? Stay and 
care for Dian’s sheep. Do not join the wild crowds 
in the townships.” She touched his arm in farewell 
and was off, flying down the road as though her feet 
had wings. 

Grigge stood looking after her, so dazed that he 
could not credit his senses. He had come out half 
asleep and found a shock-haired peasant girl at his 
door who had spoken to him with the voice of the 
Little Mademoiselle! What was it she had said? 
Do not join the wild crowds in the townships! 
Little she knew of those crowds, or of anything but 
ease and luxury. She was right, he had nothing to 
be grateful for to a Saint Frere. He hated them 
root and branch. He stood looking after Marie 
Josephine as she sped away along the moonlit road, 
as though he could not believe his eyes. Where was 
she going, and what did it mean ? Then some of her 
words came back to him: “Stay and care for Dian’s 


Marie Josephine Is Ready 215 

sheep!” He went into the close hovel and threw 
himself down on his oat-straw shakedown. 

Marie Josephine ran and ran until she could run 
no more. At last she sank down in the shadow of 
a newly-budded oak, breathing hard, her bundle at 
her side. As she sat there she heard a sound which 
surprised her, a sound of swiftly running steps which 
might almost have been an echo of her own! She 
shrank back farther in the shadow. Some one was 
running toward her through a dark side path of a 
meadow close to the road. She stood up, took a 
step forward, and cried, “Jean!” 

He sank down under the tree and for several 
seconds could do nothing but pant painfully. At 
last he took one deep, long breath and spoke. 

“I almost lost you. You led me such a dance! 
You ran as though you had lightning in your shoes. 
I even called to you and begged you to wait, but you 
did not hear!” 

Marie Josephine was so glad to see him that she 
could not speak. Finally she said: 

“You came; but how did you know?” 

“I just thought it was to-night from the way you 
spoke when we sat there on the doorstep. I knew 
that, because of Petite Mere, you would never let 
me come with you, but I’ve come, I’ve come. I’ve 
never been anywhere at all, and now I’m going with 
you. I’m going to take care of you! We’ve come 
a long way and we can’t go back! I watched for 
you by the terrace. I crept out when I heard Petite 


216 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Mere snoring. Then when I saw you, I followed 
you. I hid behind the hedge while you talked with 
Grigge. Name of a name, but he was dumb with 
surprise. I ran near you along the meadow, but you 
went so fast and I stumbled twice and fell. I’m 
going with you. You can’t stop me. I’m going all 
the way!” 

Marie Josephine jumped up and took his hand. 
She was so glad that he had come that the tears 
brimmed over and rolled down her cheeks. 

“It’s naughty, it’s awful—it’s wonderful! Oh, 
I’m so glad you’ve come. We must not waste an¬ 
other second here. We must not rest at all until 
daylight.” 

They started to walk at a swift pace, holding 
hands, the bundle flopping over Jean’s shoulder. 
All about them was the sweetness and mystery of 
the night, and before them, the lure of adventure! 


Chapter XVII 


AT THE OLD GREEN MILL-INN 

“It's the old mill. We’ve walked all night and 
we’ve only come to the mill!” 

Marie Josephine stood still in the middle of the 
road. They had come out from the cool shade of 
the forest road and the early morning sunshine 
greeted them. The sky was faintly blue and every¬ 
where there was the sleepy twitter of birds. 

They had walked steadily all night, except for 
occasional rests by the wayside. 

“We might have our dejeuner here, some hot 
coffee and a petit pain. We can rest while we eat 
it,” suggested Marie Josephine, and Jean assented 
eagerly. He was too excited as yet to be really 
tired, it was all so utterly new to him. He had 
never been as far as the forest by the old mill in all 
his life. He kept thinking over and over: 

“Petite Mere will soon be waking and she’ll find 
that I’m gone!” 

As they came up to the mill-inn, a woman stood in 
the doorway. When she saw her, Marie Josephine 
stopped, hesitated, and would have turned away but 
the woman said sharply: 

217 


218 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“What do you want, you two little tramps?” 

Marie Josephine answered, “We’re not tramps, 
but we’re very hungry and want some breakfast. We 
can pay for it.” 

“You’re not to say that she is a tramp,” put in 
Jean indignantly, nodding toward Marie Josephine. 
The woman paid no attention to him. She was 
looking steadily at Marie Josephine, and as she 
looked, Marie Josephine could feel the color come 
into her cheeks. Could it be that the inn woman 
recognized her as the young Mademoiselle who had 
eaten dejeuner there the summer before? There was 
something about the woman which was familiar, 
something more than the remembrance of the sum¬ 
mer before. Marie Josephine caught her breath. 
She suddenly remembered the figure she had seen 
under the oak tree after dinner the night before. 
She caught Jean’s hand and started to turn away, 
but at that moment the woman gave an exclamation 
and looked off toward the forest path. The children 
followed her glance. There, coming toward them, 
running lightly, and clearing a big mud puddle in the 
middle of the road with a bound, was Flambeau! 

He leaped upon Marie Josephine, fairly devour¬ 
ing her with kisses. There was no use in pretending, 
Flambeau had given them away! He gave short, 
staccato barks of joy, turning to jump on Jean, lick¬ 
ing his face and hands, and then turning again to 
his little mistress. 

The inn woman looked from one to the other of 


At the Old Green Mill-Inn 


219 


them keenly, her face now alive with interest. She 
stared at Marie Josephine as hard as she could. 
Then she exclaimed: 

“The dog seems to know you well. I have seen 
him before and, if I’m not mistaken, I’ve seen you, 
too.” As she spoke, she pushed Marie Josephine 
gently toward the door, looking over her shoulder 
at Jean. “You can come in. I’ll have some coffee 
and a bit of bread for you soon. You can rest 
awhile, for you both looked fagged out.” 

Marie Josephine, though she was almost inside 
the door, tried to pull herself away from the woman. 

“No, Jean, we’ll go on, we don’t want breakfast 
here,” she said, but the woman had stretched out her 
arm and pulled Jean in, too. 

“Don’t be stupid. Of course you must have food, 
or you’ll not be able to take the rest of your journey, 
wherever it is you’re going.” The woman spoke 
kindly and shut the door after them. Flambeau 
had been the first to enter the mill-inn, and he 
bounded across the oddly-shaped room, still barking 
his delight. 

“Well, what do you think of this for a good rest¬ 
ing place ? See, there’s a window cut in the side over 
there so you can see the forest.” The woman was 
standing in front of the door, and as Marie Jose¬ 
phine and Jean followed the direction of her finger, 
and looked out at the road leading to the forest 
path, she quietly and quickly turned the key in the 
lock and put it in her pocket. 


220 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“Now I’ll tell you what you can do. Go up those 
stairs and you’ll find a nice little room at the top. 
It has tables and chairs just like this one, and there’s 
a fireplace there. I built a bit of fire early, for the 
mill gets damp even on spring nights. You both go 
up there and rest, and I’ll bring your coffee up to 
you. I’ll bring a bone and some milk for the dog, 
too,” she said. Marie Josephine’s heart beat fast 
as she listened. Did the woman remember how she 
had fed Flambeau the summer before? Could it 
be that she was the person underneath the oak? 
This dark woman at the inn had been spying on 
them at Les Vignes! 

Marie Josephine followed Jean up the funny 
winding stairs. They found the room at the top. 
There were tables and chairs in it, just as the woman 
had said. They went over to a table near the small 
fire. There were white muslin curtains at the single 
window and a pot of geraniums stood on the sill. 
It was a neat, cheerful room, and if she had not been 
anxious, Marie Josephine would have loved it, for 
the fact that the familiar, old olive mill, which she 
had always known, had been turned into an inn 
interested her very much. As it was, she turned to 
Jean as soon as they had shut the door, and catch¬ 
ing him firmly by the arm, whispered fiercely: 

“It’s not safe here. She’s a spy. I saw her under 
our oak tree last night. I saw her going through 
the wood. There’s a dark cloak on the chair by the 
door downstairs. She wore it last night and she 


At the Old Green Mill-Inn 


221 


hasn’t been back very long, even though she did 
have four hours’ start of us. She knows who I am. 
Flambeau gave us away. She remembers him from 
last summer when we stopped here for dejeuner. 
Hush! I hear her!” Marie Josephine ran across 
the room and, when the door opened, she was look¬ 
ing out of the window. The side of the mill was 
painted green and there was an eave’s trough along 
it. An apple tree showing faintly pink and white 
swayed in the early morning breeze, its branches 
making a tapping sound as they flapped against the 
rough wall of the mill. 

The woman Paulette came across to the fire and 
put down a tray. 

“I had a sip of coffee early myself and so I just 
warmed some up for the two of you. It’s cold in the 
morning around here, even if spring has come,” she 
said. “Draw up to the table now and make your¬ 
selves at home. The brown bread will be to your 
taste, and there’s honey in the blue dish. Here’s 
milk for the dog.” The woman took a tin dish off 
the tray and, bending over, called, “Come, doggie,” 
as she put it on the floor. 

Marie Josephine went over to the table and sat 
down, and Jean followed her example. He was 
astonished at what his friend had told him. Sud¬ 
denly he felt so tired after walking all night that 
he was not a bit like his usual bright, eager self. 

“It does look good. There’s nothing I like better 
than bread and honey!” Marie Josephine exclaimed, 


222 


Red Caps and Lilies 

pouring coffee from a brown jug into one of the two 
white cups and handing the cup to Jean. As she 
spoke she smiled a little wanly at the woman. She 
had spoken as cheerfully as she could and she hoped 
that she had not let the woman see that she sus¬ 
pected her. 

Paulette eyed them both shrewdly. 

“I’ll just go down and leave you to a quiet meal. 
There may be a coach party in for lunch, for even 
though it is out of the regular beat we get them 
sometimes.” She crossed the room and went out as 
she spoke. As she pushed the blue dish of honey 
toward Jean, Marie Josephine felt her heart sink 
and for a moment the lump in her throat was so 
big she could not swallow. She had heard the 
woman’s key click in the lock! 

Jean took a huge slice of bread and honey in his 
two hands and bit a big half moon in it. He was 
so hungry that it didn’t seem to him as though any¬ 
thing else mattered very much for the moment, but 
when he saw Marie Josephine’s face he put down 
the bread and looked at her. 

“It isn’t so bad here, Little Mademoiselle. The 
woman seems kind enough. You couldn’t have seen 
her at Les Vignes,” he protested. 

Marie Josephine ate a slice of bread and drank 
some coffee before she replied. “We must keep up 
our strength,” she said. In spite of the peril of the 
situation she almost had a thrill at the thought that 
here indeed was an adventure, one that held all sorts 


223 


At the Old Green Mill-Inn 

of possibilities. She turned to Jean and her eyes 
were as big as saucers as she said to him: 

“How many times must I tell you not to call me 
the Little Mademoiselle? You are to say Jo. I’ve 
reminded you twice already. You must remember, 
Jean. We are locked in here and we are prisoners. 
Don’t you understand?” 

Jean jumped up and ran over to the door and tried 
it. It would not open. They were locked in! 

“She recognized me, but not for certain until 
Flambeau came. Oh, how did he get out!” Flam¬ 
beau left his dish of milk and came up to Marie 
Josephine at the sound of his name, and she put her 
face against his back. “Flambeau, why did you 
come? You’ve caused all the trouble. What shall 
we do with you?” 

Jean was how fully awake to the situation and, 
although he was frightened, he was excited and 
alert. He nodded at Marie Josephine. 

“It’s come, hasn’t it? You know we’ve always 
wanted an adventure ! What would they say if they 
knew at Les Vignes, Lit—” Jean caught himself 
just in time, “Jo.” 

Marie Josephine had jumped up from the table 
while Jean was speaking. She clasped her hands 
together and put her face down on them, and the 
tears trickled through her fingers. 

“We must get away, we must. Why, they will 
discover that we’ve gone very soon now. It must 
be nearly seven. They will be sending Neville to 


224 


Red Caps and Lilies 

find us, and his horse is fleet.” She caught her 
breath with a sob as she spoke. 

“It’s a long ride, and if we do get away I’m not 
afraid that Neville will find us, for we are small 
and can hide easy, Jo,” Jean said, and Marie Jose¬ 
phine smiled faintly. She had no pocket handker¬ 
chief and so rubbed her sleeve across her eyes. 

“How stupid I am to cry. We must do something 
at once, Jean. We—but what can we do?” 

Jean ran over to the window and looked out. He 
tugged at the knob, for the window shut like a small 
door. Marie Josephine came up to him and when 
he tired of tugging at it she tried to move it. It was 
a little swollen by recent dampness, but after Jean 
tugged the second time it gave, swung open, and the 
fresh morning air greeted them. Something else 
greeted them, too. It was the sweet pink and white¬ 
ness of the apple tree. Jean leaned way out oh the 
window ledge and looked around, his eyes shining 
excitedly. Then he turned and faced Marie Jose¬ 
phine. 

“It’s risky, but I think there’s a chance that we 
can reach the tree. The eave’s trough, don’t you 
see, holding on to the roof where it curves down!” 
he said. 

She leaned way over and peered up at the low 
roof and then down at the eave’s trough. It curved 
down and ran straight across the side of the mill, 
just below them. There was not a moment to lose, 


At the Old Green Mill-Inn 225 

for the woman would be coming back soon for the 
tray. 

“We can try. But Flambeau! We can’t leave 
him. Could he, do you think—would he follow 
us?” 

Jean nodded. “I believe he would, and there’s 
no other way. Yes, I know he would, for he’s al¬ 
ways followed us everywhere. I’ll go first, then 
you, and you’ll see that he’ll come. He can bal¬ 
ance well. And oh, yes, don’t you remember the 
time he walked the ledge of the summer house when 
we were playing ship?” Jean whispered eagerly but 
softly. 

Marie Josephine nodded. “You go and I’ll fol¬ 
low,” she whispered back. 

Jean turned toward the table. “The bread, Jo! 
You said you had money for food, and we need the 
bread.” 

Marie Josephine felt in her pocket and drew out 
a bag. In it were some coins and she put one on the 
table. Then she handed the loaf to Jean and he 
put it inside his blouse, buttoning his jacket over it. 
He jumped up on the sill and, turning carefully, 
reached up and caught the overhanging ledge of the 
roof. Then he cautiously put one foot along the 
ledge, drawing the other up to it, and in that way 
made slow but sure progress toward the welcoming 
branches of the tree. 

Marie Josephine listened carefully, her eyes on 


226 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Jean. When Jean was safe she turned and put her 
hand on Flambeau’s head. 

“You’re to follow, Flambeau, and you’re not to 
be afraid. You must follow,” she whispered. Then 
she jumped up on to the window sill, turned, and 
grasped the ledge of the roof as Jean had done. 
She heard the swish of the tree as he caught the 
branches, but she dared not look around. She did 
not dare to think of the woman Paulette, and she 
tried, for the moment, not to think of Flambeau, 
but that was not so easy, for there was an appealing 
squeal from the window sill. Then horrors! A 
sharp bark! 

Marie Josephine called softly, “Flambeau, 
come!” She held on to the ledge and looked back, 
and, to her joy, saw the dog put his slender feet 
on to the trough and gingerly step forward. “Come, 
Flambeau, good doggie, pet, come!” she called 
again softly. Then she turned, caught at the 
branches, held them with every bit of strength in 
her body, swayed with them, dipping down through 
their leafy sweetness, loosening her hold the instant 
her feet touched the ground. She swayed and stag¬ 
gered, half fell over, but was up in an instant, and 
with Jean looked upward at Flambeau. He had 
reached the edge of the trough, and was looking 
down. Soon they saw that he had spied what they 
had not seen, a broad, thick branch some four feet 
below the trough. He leaped down, scrambled 
among the smaller branches for a moment, then 


At the Old Green Mill-Inn 


227 


jumped safely to the ground and ran with bounds 
after the two friends who seemed to scarcely touch 
their feet to the earth as they sped down the road, 
away from the forest, the old mill-inn, and the dark 
woman, Paulette! 

They often wondered afterward how they had 
ever run so fast after their night of travel. Fear 
seemed to race behind them, and they were sure 
they heard the woman running and calling, but they 
never looked back to see. At last they could not 
run any longer. They came to a crossroad and sat 
down near the edge of the road, panting and ex¬ 
hausted. There was no one in sight and they rested 
for some little time before they could talk at all. 
Then Jean said, “There must be quicksilver in your 
feet, Jo,” and they both laughed. 

Jean laughed the most, throwing back his head 
and shouting. He was so tired and excited that he 
could not seem to stop. “You look so awful, Jo. 
You are so untidy and dirty and ugly,” he said. 

“It’s good that I do look just this way, for no one 
will know me. Poor Flambeau, see how tired he is. 
If only he hadn’t come. But wasn’t he wonderful 
there at the inn?” 

There was the sound of wheels coming the other 
way, and they looked up and saw that a coach was 
approaching. Flambeau ran toward it, and as he 
came up to it, started to bark. The driver of the 
coach stopped and looked at him, and then at Marie 
Josephine and Jean. 


228 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“You both look fagged out. If you’re going my 
way I’ll give you a lift,” he said. 

They came up to the side of the coach, and as 
they stood there it seemed as though everything 
went round and round before Marie Josephine’s 
eyes. 

“We are tired, and so is Flambeau,” she said 
faintly. Then she scrambled up somehow into the 
back of the coach, and Jean followed her. 

“We are going to Melon and beyond toward 
Paris. I have cousins near Melon,” Jean said to 
the man, and this was true. 

There was only one other passenger in the cart, 
a fat market woman who kept muttering to herself, 
and every now and then leaning over a wooden box 
at her feet and saying, “Hush your gab. You’ll 
squawk all the way to Paris, I know you will.” 
The very disagreeable noise of imprisoned hens 
answered her. Marie Josephine remembered feel¬ 
ing sorry for the hens, and then she knew nothing 
more, for she fell into the deepest sleep she had 
ever known. 

She woke suddenly, sat bolt upright, and rubbed 
her eyes. When she had fallen asleep she had felt 
the sun on her face, but as she woke the soft glimmer 
of stars greeted her. Jean was awake. He sat up 
beside the driver of the coach, talking busily. It 
was Flambeau’s caress which had roused her. He 
was lying close beside her. The hens were quiet and 
the woman was asleep. The kind man who drove 


229 


At the Old Green Mill-Inn 

the coach was smoking a pipe. Outside in the dusk 
the good-night call of birds came to them drowsily. 

“You have to be very still when you catch them 
or you will frighten them away,” Jean was saying. 
“I always let them go. They are such dear little 
things I always free them after just a little while.” 
He seemed to be having the best kind of a time sit¬ 
ting up there by the driver. Marie Josephine hoped 
he would be very careful what he said, he was such 
a little chatterbox. 

It had been so strange waking that way in the 
coach, for she had been dreaming of Lisle and had 
seen his face so vividly in her dream. He had on 
the velvet robes of the “Sun King,” and the jewels 
in his sword had sparkled as they had done on the 
night that he had sat beside her on the bed and told 
her that she was going to Les Vignes. What would 
he say if he could see her now? He would not even 
know that this funny, dirty girl was his little sister, 
Marie Josephine! 

She had become used to the idea that she was 
going to run away to Paris. But in spite of her 
imagination she had somehow never quite been able 
to visualize it. Now it was a reality! She thought 
so much of the hidden cellar and of all that grand¬ 
father had told her that spring day so long ago. 

“It is to be your secret unless by disclosing it you 
can save a life,” he had said. Paris, and all that 
was happening there, seemed like a bad dream. She 
had never really believed that anything could happen 


230 


Red Caps and Lilies 

to her mother and Lisle. She often thought of the 
“other one” who knew of the cellar, and wondered 
if that person was helping, too. The waiting at 
Les Vignes for news of maman and Lisle had been 
more than she could bear. 

The cart stopped with a jerk, and the driver 
turned his head. 

“Are you awake back there in the cart? Do you 
hear me, girl?” he asked. “We’re almost at Melon. 
Are you going on to your cousins, or what will you 
do?” 

Marie Josephine was alert in a moment. They 
must make the best of the darkness and of their 
long rest. She judged that Jean had told the driver 
to ask her, not knowing himself what she wanted 
to do. 

“We’ll go on, thank you kindly. Come, Jean,” 
she replied, climbing down the side of the cart. 
Jean jumped off the driver’s seat and waved his cap 
up at him. 

“That was a good ride and I slept enough to last 
a week when those old hens got quiet!” He laughed 
up at the driver as he spoke. 

Suddenly a voice called through the darkness, 
“Are you Champar, the driver to the Calais road?” 
The next moment a boy with a round, honest face 
came up to the cart. 

“That’s me,” the coach driver answered. 

“Well, do you go near Pigeon Valley?” the boy 
asked. 


At the Old Green Mill-Inn 


231 


“Not often, about once a month. I take in that 
way on my next route, and then go straight on 
toward Calais, but I have to detour so much now 
it’s the hardest trip I have. I have to keep out of 
the way of cannon, my boy, and the army, and 
maybe fighting!” The driver spoke importantly. 

“Well, anyway you don’t have any of that as far 
as Pigeon Valley.” The boy came close to the cart 
and spoke in a low tone. Marie Josephine could not 
hear. Evidently the man made some emphatic state¬ 
ment and the boy replied in a louder tone, “Never 
mind, if you don’t go straight there with the coach.” 
Then he handed the driver something white which 
looked like a letter. Marie Josephine heard him 
say: 

“I’ll see that he gets it safely.” With that, Cham- 
par, the coach driver, whipped up his horses, waved 
his whip at them all, and drove on. 


Chapter XVIII 


VIVI SEES THE OTHER SIDE OF THE 
GATES 

Raoul kicked one leg against the other. He 
was ill at ease, as any one could have seen had they 
taken the trouble to watch him. Soufflot, the seed 
shopman, seated on an overturned box in the market 
gardener’s room, was holding forth as usual to some 
of his cronies. Dian sat apart from the others, his 
hands folded on his knees. Raoul came up to him, 
and stood before him, looking up at him. He had 
gone with his master to the country the day after 
he had made fun of Humphrey at the West Bar¬ 
ricade, more than a fortnight ago now, and so he 
had not seen Dian since. 

“Good day, master shepherd. It’s a long time 
since we’ve walked out together, but now that you’re 
acquainted with the city perhaps you’ll not want my 
company.” He hesitated a moment and then he 
colored all over his honest face as he went on, “I’m 
none too proud of taunting the funny fat man at 
the West Barricade.” 

Dian smiled. “It was not a thing of which to be 
proud, that I’m bound to say. One can go far if one 
232 


Vivi Sees the Other Side of the Gates 233 

has Humphrey Trail for a friend. The best thing 
for you to do, if you are sorry, is to tell him so. 
Mayhap you’ll be able to do something to atone for 
it one day! As for a walk, I’ll be glad to go out 
with you. There’s too much talking here, words 
that do nothing and mean less.” As he spoke, Dian 
rose to his great height and put his cloak about his 
shoulders. He crossed the room and had his hand 
on the knob of the door when something that Souf¬ 
flot said made him pause. 

“We can take what we want, that’s what we can 
do. There was plenty of grab awhile ago, but things 
are getting soft. I say let’s pillage!” 

“There’s plenty of plunder about. Last week the 
jewels from a rue Royale shop were scattered from 
one end of the street to the other. The aristocrats 
and the anti-patriots are filling every jail in the city. 
We are taking over the best houses now for official 
headquarters.” 

“What houses?” It was Dian who asked the 
question. 

“I’ve a list.” Soufflot’s friend, a blacksmith of 
the Saint Antoine district, drew a paper from his 
pocket as he replied. He was thought well of in his 
district as a zealous patriot, and he enjoyed the 
importance. “We were each given one of these lists 
at the meeting of our section last night. I was sorry 
not to see you there, farmer,” he said, looking across 
at Dian, who still stood by the door. “Let’s see,” 
he went on, “they still have a number of decisions 


234 


Red Caps and Lilies 

to make as to houses for official headquarters. 
There are any number whose former occupants have 
gone—so!” As he spoke the blacksmith dashed his 
hand across his throat, making a grating click with 
his tongue against his teeth. 

The seed shopman laughed and so did the market 
gardener. The blacksmith pondered over his list. 

“The hotel of the De Roumande family near the 
corner of the square by the Pont-Saint Michel. The 
hotel of the Framandes at 80 Champs filysees, all 
the hotels of aristocrats within two blocks of the 
Place de la Concorde. The hotel of the Marquise 
du Ganne at 90 rue du Paradis.” The blacksmith 
chuckled. “The old bird croaked out some little 
time ago. Our authorities took care of the inter¬ 
ment; and we’ve taken care of the niece, too; the 
proud Comtesse Saint Frere. She’s there safe as 
can be!” 

Dian opened the door and went out, followed by 
Raoul. They walked away from the gates toward 
the city. Dian was silent, thinking how best to take 
the direction of the house of the Marquise du Ganne 
without arousing Raoul’s suspicions. He felt thank¬ 
ful enough when the boy spoke. 

“I would like to see some of these houses of the 
aristocrats. They say any citizen may go in. Let’s 
go to the Framande house. I used to keep the cooks 
there in stitches of laughter, turning somersaults 
all up and down the kitchens when I brought the 
fresh produce in.” 


Vivi Sees the Other Side of the Gates 235 

Dian nodded assent. “Well enough then, if you 
like. I, too, would not mind a glimpse at some of 
them. You know the way, so I’ll follow your lead,” 
he said. 

They walked up the great wide avenue, turning 
on to it from the rue Royale. Raoul looked back 
over his shoulder. At the end of the avenue the 
great giant guillotine showed black against a blue 
spring sky. 

“I’ll tell you something I saw, Shepherd, if you’ll 
keep a quiet tongue in your head. There is a boy 
shut up in the bakery shop, the big, smart one on 
the rue Saint Honore. I saw him quite by accident. 
I’ve not told any one. He’s an aristocrat, I’m sure; 
he had on a velvet suit.” 

Raoul then told Dian everything he knew as they 
walked toward the Framande house. It was natural 
enough that the shepherd should question him, and 
he found out that, as far as Raoul could tell, the 
prisoner had looked well, had been dressed in his 
usual way, and had had a tray of milk and cakes 
carried up to him by a woman whom Raoul declared 
to be kind. 

“He could have worse than her looking after 
him, whoever he is. She’s given me many a cup of 
hot coffee and a cake on cold days. She’s good 
enough; but the boy’s in bad hands if he’s a prisoner 
of her husband! He’ll have him up before the 
Tribunal for trial when the time is ripe. You mark 
my words, he’s going to get some sort of plum for 


236 


Red Caps and Lilies 

himself out of this pudding!” Dian listened to 
Raoul in silence, making no comment except to ask 
a few questions. Since he had found the note in the 
cake he had waited quietly for the next develop¬ 
ment. He trusted that he would be shown the right 
way and he had spoken confidently to Humphrey 
Trail when that impetuous soul longed for action. 

He was thinking of Humphrey and of Rosanne 
as he walked with Raoul along the Champs filysees. 
He saw Humphrey every day and he knew that 
Rosanne was safe with Vivi, but he realized, as did 
also the Yorkshire man, that Rosanne must not re¬ 
main longer in the alley. Vivi was out now playing 
about the gates and plying her father’s trade of 
selling licorice water. She was the best little soul 
in the world, and she loved Rosanne, but she was 
very young and she had never learned to keep things 
to herself. She might, without meaning to, say 
something which would cause suspicion and bring an 
investigating body of citizen soldiers to the alley. 
There was only one place where Rosanne could be 
safe until the opportunity came to take her out of 
Paris, and that was in the hidden cellar. 

They found a noisy mob about the Framande 
house and sights that were bad to see, for the crowds 
were out looting and robbing and killing. They 
turned away, glad to be on a quiet street, and walked 
on in silence a few minutes. Then Dian said: 

“There were other houses. There was one on the 



Vivi Sees the Other Side of the Gates 237 

rue du Paradis, the Du Ganne place, was it not? 
Let us see what is going on there.” 

Raoul nodded. “I know that one well, too. The 
old lady used to give great parties. She’s dead now, 
and her niece is prisoner there. I’d like to have a 
look at her!” 

The house of the Marquise du Ganne was gloomy 
and big and forbidding. At the wide entrance door 
they were challenged by a soldier in the uniform of 
the Republic, who called: 

“Who goes there? Liberty, Equality, Fraternity, 
or Death!” 

Dian and Raoul answered: “Friends. Liberty, 
Equality, Fraternity, or Death!” and went inside. 

In the center of a long hall some men in uniform 
sat writing at a table. Citizens of Paris, some rough 
and ragged, walked about, but, for the most part, 
the place was quiet. One of the men glanced up 
from his writing and, when he saw Dian, nodded 
and beckoned to him. Dian went over to the table, 
recognizing him as one of the men who had attended 
Soufflot’s supper. 

“Could you do me the favor of glancing at this, 
Shepherd? They say you know how to write and 
read well, and that”—the man peered up at Dian 
as he spoke—“that seems a passing strange thing 
for a shepherd.” 

“The evenings are long in the country districts, 
citizen. I have worked through them until late into 


238 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the night to glean the little knowledge I possess. 
But what is it I can do for you?” Dian replied. 

“Just take a look at this notice I’ve written out 
and see if it’s readable to your eyes. Marat can’t 
do much more than write his name, so why should I 
care about doing any better?” As he spoke the offi¬ 
cial handed the sheet to Dian, who bent over it. 

“There are some words I could change for you, 
and with your permission I’ll do it,” Dian said. The 
man consented and Dian sat down at the table and, 
painstakingly and slowly, corrected the garbled writ¬ 
ing. Then he read it out to the official, who nodded 
with approval. 

“You’ve done that well. You are clever, I see,” 
he commented, taking the paper from Dian and 
leaning back in his chair and yawning. 

Dian was silent for a minute. He wanted to ask 
if there was any possibility of going through the 
house, hoping to get a word with the comtesse as 
he went through. He did not know just how to 
word his request without arousing suspicion. Raoul 
helped him out. He ran up to the table just then. 

“Oh, citizen Parnette, do let us see the prisoner. 
Just one look is all I want,” he begged. 

Citizen Parnette frowned. What an impudent 
youngster this messenger boy of his friend, the 
market gardener, was, to be sure! 

“It’s not done, as a rule. They’d be up there, 
every last one of them, if they knew we had an aris¬ 
tocrat in keeping. Well, it won’t be for long now. 



Vivi Sees the Other Side of the Gates 239 

She will go to La Force I daresay. You can have 
a look for friendship’s sake, but keep a quiet tongue 
about it. Go up the back stairway and straight down 
a hall. She’s in a room at the left and you can see 
her because the upper corner of the door is broken 
through. The mob did that when we first took the 
house over. She was in the west wing then, but we 
moved her to the other side.” The official bent over 
his writing, and Dian and Raoul went on through 
the long hall to the back of the house. 

“Go on ahead of me, my lad. I’ll warrant you’ll 
take the steps three at a time, and I would take my 
leisure,” Dian said to Raoul as they came to the 
foot of a long flight of stairs. How often had the 
old comte spoken to him of this house of his aunt’s 
where he had spent so many days of his youth! 

Raoul ran on up the steps three at a time, just as 
Dian had said he would. When he was well on in 
front, Dian took a small notebook and a piece of 
charcoal from the inner pocket of his cloak and, 
placing the book against the tapestry wall at the side 
of the stairs, wrote these words: 

“Tear this after reading. Lisle is imprisoned in 
the bakery shop at rue Saint Honore. I shall find 
a way to save him and to save you. Mademoiselle 
de Soigne is safe with friends. Keep up your 
courage. Dian.” 

Then he went on up the stairs and down the hall. 
Raoul was already looking through the small, shat¬ 
tered paling at the side of the heavy, nail-studded 


240 Red Caps and Lilies 

door. There was a red brocaded curtain in front of 
the door. Raoul looked back over his shoulder. 

“My, she’s grand and solemn looking. She’s sit¬ 
ting by the window!” He moved away so that 
Dian could peer through. The shepherd hesitated. 
It was not to his liking, this looking in on a woman, 
but he wanted to see what the room was like and to 
pass his note to the comtesse. He put his eyes to 
the opening and saw the comtesse sitting, as Raoul 
had said, by the narrow window, dressed in her 
black frock, her hands folded in her lap. 

Raoul had roamed on down the hall, peering in 
at doors and shuffling his feet along the velvet carpet 
as he went. 

Dian said softly, “Come to the door, Madame.” 

The comtesse heard him, gave a start, and then 
came quickly across the room, both hands at her 
heart. She saw his face and recognized him at once. 
There was no time for more than a word. He 
dropped the note at her feet, whispering, “Be ready 
when I come.” Then he turned away and joined 
Raoul, who was already shuffling toward him. 

They walked back toward the West Barricade 
together, and, as they walked, Raoul asked inquisi¬ 
tively: “Why do you not take us to your lodgings? 
Where is it that you stay?” 

“I am lodging with friends. It is a dark, cold 
place, and there are rats about; but, because it is 
my friend’s house I am well pleased at being there. 
Listen to me well, Raoul! Would you like to prove 


Vivi Sees the Other Side of the Gates 241 

yourself a lad to be trusted? You say you are sorry 
for hurting the honest farmer, Humphrey Trail. 
Would you like to do him a service?” 

“Maybe,” answered Raoul in his teasing way; 
but Dian knew that he was teasing. 

“See, Raoul, I am treating you as a man. I am 
trusting you. Does that mean something to you?” 

Raoul nodded. “Yes, Master Shepherd, I like 
you. I would serve you,” he answered simply. 

“Then listen well. I would ask you to take a 
letter to Champar, the cross-eyed coach driver on 
the Amiens road. The crossroad where he turns 
toward Melon is only a few miles from your 
master’s farm. You are simply to hand him the 
letter and say nothing.” Dian looked down earnestly 
at Raoul’s simple, round face. 

“You may trust me right well, Shepherd,” Raoul 
said. “I’ll see that Champar gets the letter safe 
enough.” 

They had reached the gates, and they stood for 
a while watching the carts go through. Suddenly 
they saw Vivi. She carried a tray from which 
dangled a row of tin cups, and on the top of which 
was balanced a tall pewter jug. 

“Licorice water, licorice water! Who’s thirsty?” 
she called out at intervals, and she did quite a thriv¬ 
ing trade as she went about among the people. 

“Hi there, girl, another cup for me. Sacre, it’s a 
poor drink, but I don’t see any wine kegs about, 


242 


Red Caps and Lilies 

and it’s thirsty work seeing that no aristocrats get 
through the gates,” said a soldier coming up to her. 

Vivi grinned at him from under her straggling 
black locks as she poured some of the sweet grey 
mixture into one of the cups. She liked to have 
adventures so that she could tell Rosanne about 
them at night. She meant to stop at a little shop 
she knew on the rue Saint Antoine and buy a bit of 
sweet cake as a treat for Rosanne’s supper. Now 
that she had a few pennies to spend she liked to buy 
some little thing to cheer her friend, for whom the 
days dragged slowly. 

“Let me go through the gates, Georges Fardou, 
just for fun,” she pleaded. 

The soldier in charge gave a good-natured laugh 
and looked down at her. 

“That’s so, you’re poor old one-legged Ran- 
boeau’s brat. That was a bad deal your father 
got when the lumber fell. Let you through the 
gates, is it? What would you do on the other side?” 
he asked. 

“Pick some flowers and come right back,” an¬ 
swered Vivi, hitching up the tray which was held 
about her neck by a leather strap. 

The soldier in charge laughed and turned to 
another. 

“She wants to pick some flowers on the other side 
of the gates. Well, go through and see how many 
you’ll find!” He held open the gate far enough for 


Vivi Sees the Other Side of the Gates 243 

Vivi to step through, and they all laughed at her as 
she looked about curiously. 

‘‘It’s a great sight, isn’t it? No one was curious 
until they had to stay this side, but since the gates 
have been locked you’d think they thought the fields 
of paradise were just near by,” laughed Georges 
Fardou. 

There were no flowers, only a long stretch of 
road, the vanishing bulk of a market cart in the 
distance, and the vivid spring sky above. Vivi 
looked about her and then, putting her tray down, 
began to dance and sing: 

“Dansons la Carmagnole, 

Vive le son du canon!” 

The soldiers looked on, calling out approvingly: 

“That’s good. She might be a sans-culotte her¬ 
self! Give us the ‘£a Ira,’ too!” 

Vivi danced and sang with all her might, enjoying 
the attention she got very much. When Fardou 
called her, she picked up her tray and came inside 
the gates, making a bow to the guard, who bowed 
mockingly in return. 

“Thank you, citizeness, for the entertainment. 
We shall see you one day at the Comedie Frangaise, 
I daresay,” he remarked. 

“Thank you, Georges Fardou, for letting me out¬ 
side the gates. It is not so nice there as I thought.” 
She swung her leather strap over her shoulder and 


244 


Red Caps and Lilies 

went on crying her wares: “Licorice water, who 
wants licorice water!” 

Dian left Raoul and went to Humphrey Trail’s 
room in the alley. He had not expected to find 
Humphrey in, but was only too glad to see his broad 
kindly face looking around the corner of the door 
as he came up the stairs. 

“I’ve seen Madame Saint Frere,” Dian said as 
soon as he came into the room. Then he pro¬ 
ceeded to tell Humphrey all about the morning. 
Humphrey’s face shone. 

“Tha has done well and there’s now a bit o’ light 
ahead. Th’ young lad, to think, he is in the bakery 
shop. How shall we save th’ lad?” Humphrey 
wrung his fat hands together as he spoke. 

“We shall do it, Humphrey Trail, and, if I have 
done well, you have done better, for though I have 
dreams and the hope that they will come true, you 
have already saved a little girl.” Dian smiled his 
slow smile and Humphrey Trail answered him: 

“Tha has something more than I ha’! Tha has 
trust!” As he spoke Humphrey sighed, longing for 
the confidence which made Dian so sure that Lisle 
would be rescued. He thought of the letter which 
Dian was holding until he found the right messenger 
to deliver it to Champar, the trusted coach driver, 
who would, in turn, give it into the hands of Grigge, 
who lived at the gates of the Saint Frere demesne. 


Chapter XIX 


IN THE BAKERY SHOP AND OUT OF IT 

The baker from the rue Saint Honore was so 
cross that he glowered at his wife when she handed 
him a cup of steaming, nicely sweetened coffee and 
a plate of cream buns. He was worried, which was 
one reason for his being cross. He snapped out 
these words as he took a long drink of the good 
coffee: 

“There’s no telling what will be standing from 
one day to the next. They’re looting and burning 
everything that takes their fancy! They’ve got the 
idea this place is too aristocratic. They know it 
used to be serving royalty. You mark my words, 
they’ll get us yet!” The baker put his head in his 
hands with a gesture of despair. 

He meant the mobs which went from one end of 
the city to the other, plundering and stealing and 
destroying everything upon which they could lay 
their hands. They were mad with hunger, many of 
them, and there was no one to guide them; rather 
were they encouraged in their lawlessness by the 
very men who should have curbed them, and they 
lost all semblance of civilized beings. 

245 


246 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“You’re as bad as any of them, keeping that boy 
a prisoner upstairs. Why don’t you put on a uni¬ 
form and go out with our brave soldiers and fight 
for liberty in a clean way, instead of staying at home 
and turning coward and villain!” exclaimed the 
bakery woman with sudden courage. 

“I’ll ask you to keep a civil tongue in your head 
and I’ll have no more of your spoiling of that boy. 
What he needs is a little wholesome discipline, with 
his proud face and haughty ways. I couldn’t get a 
word out of him when I went up there last night; 
but I’ll try something more persuasive than words 
if he doesn’t look out. I’ll not put up with his im¬ 
pudence, and I’m going to find out if he knows any¬ 
thing of where the girl might be. I’m going to find 
out now!” 

The baker finished his coffee with one long gulp 
and rose from his chair in the outer kitchen. It was 
evening, and because of the bad times in that quarter 
they were closing early. He went through the store¬ 
room, up the stairs to the room where Lisle was. 
He unlocked the door and went in, closing the door 
behind him. 

Lisle was standing by the table. As the baker 
came up to him he pushed aside the paper and pen 
he had been using. 

“I’ve come for a word with you and you’ll do well 
to answer me straight. Where do you think the 
girl may be?” 


In the Bakery Shop and Out of It 247 

The baker came close up to Lisle and regarded 
him severely. Lisle returned his look steadily. 

“What girl?” he asked. 

“You know well enough what girl. You left her 
there in the room of your house when you went to 
the cellar for wood. She wasn’t to be found when 
we looked for her. She wasn’t anywhere about. 
You’ll have to say where you think she may be, and 
you’ll have to say it quick!” 

Lisle smiled, leaning back against the side of the 
table and looking the baker over impudently. 

“You don’t look as stupid as you sound,” he said. 

“Is that so, you young high and mighty. I’ll find 
a way to take you down a peg. I’ll have none of 
your impertinence. You’ll give me civil words and 
you’ll give me a straight answer or I’ll give you 
something you’ll not relish, that I can tell you. 
Where is the De Soigne child?” 

“I don’t know where she is. I haven’t any idea, 
but I’m glad she’s safe from you. Who knows, 
perhaps some one has come to her aid. That’s what 
I’m hoping.” As Lisle spoke, Humphrey Trail’s 
honest face came into his mind, and with it a certain 
confidence. Often during these past weeks he had 
thought of Humphrey, and gone over in his mind 
their last meeting. His pride had not let him take 
Humphrey’s advice and he had kept on with his 
visits to the bakery shop. He would have given a 
great deal to have seen Humphrey just at that 
minute. There was only one other person whom 


248 Red Caps and Lilies 

he would rather have seen, and that was Dian, the 
shepherd. 

“There’s one thing I know,” cried the baker, “and 
that is you need a good taste of a whip. And, as 
sure as my name’s Charles Tortot, you’ll get it this 
very night. I’ll see to it that you shed some big 
tears before you’re many hours older, my fine fel¬ 
low!” The baker was so angry that he stuttered 
as he spoke, and his temper was not improved by 
Lisle’s next remark. 

“You couldn’t make me cry and you know it. I’m 
not afraid of you, and I think you know that, too,” 
he said. He was still leaning back against the table, 
his hands on the side of it. The baker glared at 
him but he had to admit to himself that his prisoner 
certainly did not look frightened, no matter how he 
may have felt. The baker looked at him for a 
moment, at his blue velvet suit, the freshly washed 
lace frills at his wrists, his white face and blue eyes, 
and the bright gold of his hair, tied back with its 
flare of ribbon. A silly whim of his wife’s and one 
that he should put a stop to. He stood there frown¬ 
ing at Lisle in the dusky twilight, and Lisle’s proud 
eyes frowned back at him. 

Dian came in through the alley and climbed the 
rickety stairs to the room on the first landing. He 
had seen Raoul go through the gates an hour before, 
and knew that with him had gone the letters, one 
to Champar himself, and one for him to deliver to 


In the Bakery Shop and Out of It 249 

Grigge in Pigeon Valley. He was thinking of Lisle 
as he climbed the stairs, trying to plan out the best 
way to get a message to him. 

He knocked on the door and said, “This is Dian,” 
and Vivi opened it for him, smiling a welcome. 

“Dian, stay and talk with us. I have told Vivi 
everything I know and she has told me so many 
funny things about her life, but we’re tired now.” 
Rosanne came running across the room as she spoke, 
and, catching hold of the shepherd’s hand, drew him 
over by the window. He noted that she was pale, 
and for a moment his heart sank. Like Humphrey, 
he felt a responsibility for them all, but, unlike him, 
was able, after a moment, to banish his forebodings. 

“You will have many adventures to talk over 
with your friends when you are an old, old woman, 
Mademoiselle,” he said to her smilingly. 

“See what we have for supper! Humphrey 
brought us garlic and some fresh lettuce,” Rosanne 
went on, trying to be cheerful, and receiving a re¬ 
ward in Dian’s pleased smile. 

They had put an overturned box by the one small 
window and had spread their supper on it. The 
lettuce and garlic reposed in a tin plate in the center 
of the improvised table, and a loaf of bread lay on 
a clean piece of paper at one side. Next to the plate 
of lettuce was a small glass filled with a few early 
violets. Dian came up to the table and stood look¬ 
ing down at it and at Rosanne. He touched one of 
the violets with his finger. 


250 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“A farmer woman gave them to me. She was 
sitting in her cart near the west gate. I told her 
that I had some young friends who would love 
them,” he said. 

“Dian, they are like those at Pigeon Valley. 
Dian, think of it—Pigeon Valley. I was telling 
Vivi just now about the lilies on the south terrace 
at Les Vignes, clusters, crowds of them, white and 
gold. They’ll bloom in June, Dian!” Two tears 
rolled down Rosanne’s face, but she smiled through 
them. “I want to see Marie Josephine more than 
ever to-night. I-” 

Dian put his hand gently on her shoulder. 

“You are brave,” he said, and then turning toward 
Vivi he added: “Vivi is brave, too. She is helping 
us all the time.” 

It was the best thing in the world he could have 
said, for Rosanne forgot herself at once and thought 
of Vivi. 

“Yes, she is the best friend. She is so good to me. 
When she comes in she has always something for 
me, and when I am restless she dances for me, and 
then I dance for her. She has learned to do the 
minuet with me nicely, but she likes her own dances 
better.” 

Vivi followed Dian to the door when he went out, 
and as he opened it Minuit came in, rubbing herself 
against him as she passed him. 

Dian walked toward the city. The sky was bright 



In the Bakery Shop and Out of It 251 

with stars. He thought of the stars as they shone 
on the meadows of Les Vignes. 

When he came to the corner leading into the rue 
Saint Honore, he stood still. There was the way 
of the Champs filysees, in the evening always the 
more quiet of the avenues. The tumbrils, which 
passed there all day, stopped at sundown when the 
guillotine finished its day’s work, and the crowds 
gathered along the rue Royale or about the Place 
de la Bastille, or down the length of the rue Saint 
Honore. 

Dian hesitated. He felt so tired of crowds, 
even of the thought of them, and, like Rosanne, 
he wanted Pigeon Valley. Still he hesitated. Years 
before, one wild, cold night, he had been a good 
distance from Les Vignes and had been coming home 
late. There had been two roads. One he knew 
well, for it led straight across the fields to his sheep- 
fold door; the other was over rough stubble, hard 
and uneven from the early frost. One was easy 
going and he knew every inch of it, the other was 
uphill and a long way around. He took the difficult 
road, and halfway to Les Vignes he had come across 
one of his lambs, half dead with cold. It had 
strayed from the others and lay helpless and bleat¬ 
ing on the stark hillside. He had lifted it and car¬ 
ried it home under his cloak, warmed and comforted. 
Something had told him to take the harder path, and 
the same trust had led him through it. He turned 
toward the rue Sainte Honore and as soon as he 


252 


Red Caps and Lilies 

was halfway down the street he found himself one 
of a wild mob. All about him hoarse voices were 
screaming. He was carried along with the pressing 
crowd. 

The baker was angry at Lisle, but he was curious, 
too. He had never seen any one like him. He had 
threatened to whip him and yet Lisle had still dared 
to defy him about the girl, and had spoken with an 
amazing impudence. Tortot went toward the door. 

“We’ll see if I can’t rid you of some of that im¬ 
pertinence, my fine fellow,” he snarled. 

While the baker had been speaking, there was a 
strange roaring sound somewhere in the distance, 
and when he finished it seemed to be very near. He 
paused uncertainly and his face showed white in the 
growing dusk. He ran over to the door and opened 
it, and as he did so there was a frightful crashing 
sound of breaking glass, mad shouting, then another 
crash, and the sound of a door being broken down. 

Tortot stood as one dazed, but even in his fright 
and bewilderment he had presence of mind enough 
to put himself in front of the door as Lisle made a 
rush for it. The baker’s broad bulk completely 
barred the way and he was quick enough to prevent 
Lisle from ducking under his arm. There was the 
sound of tables and chairs being overthrown, more 
shouting, and then the bakery woman’s voice calling 
lustily: 

“Charles, Charles, they are destroying us!” 


In the Bakery Shop and Out of It 253 

It was only for a couple of minutes that Lisle and 
the baker struggled in the doorway. Then there was 
a burst of sound from the kitchens, the crash of 
pewter and iron cooking pans and tins being thrown 
down, voices harshly singing the “Qa Ira,” and the 
next instant a tall figure, with ragged red locks 
about his shoulders, swung himself up the stairway, 
knocked the baker down with one fierce thrust of 
his arm, and catching Lisle about the waist, threw 
him up over his shoulder. 

He was down again like a flash, through the store¬ 
room to the bakery shop where confusion reigned. 
Cakes were scattered broadcast, and broken china 
dishes lay in scattered heaps on the floor and 
counter. Dian with one quick, strong gesture had 
flung his cloak about Lisle as he ran with him down 
the stairway. Holding him close in his arms he ran 
on through the shop, out into the freedom of the 
streets! 

Dian ran steadily and easily. He was used to 
long stretches of countryside, but he was not used 
to the tortuous, winding streets of Paris. He knew 
that some of those in the shop must have seen him, 
but as he had completely covered Lisle with his 
cloak he hoped that, had any one given him a 
thought, it would be only to surmise that he had 
run off with some especially choice piece of loot. 

He turned in and out of several narrow, twisted 
streets, and at last stopped for a moment in the 
shadow of a doorway. He listened but could hear 


254 


Red Caps and Lilies 

nothing but the usual roar of the city all about them. 
Then he put Lisle gently to the ground, throwing 
the cloak back so that he could see his face in the 
dim light. 

“It’s Dian, Little Master,” he said. 

Lisle, having been for several weeks confined in 
one small room with little fresh air, and having noth¬ 
ing to eat for the last two days, or at any rate, only 
enough to appease the bakery woman who had been 
concerned at his indisposition, was dazed and weak. 
He had been threatened one moment by the baker, 
and the next moment grabbed by some one, covered 
with a cloak, and run with at a tremendous pace, 
and now in a doorway in the heart of Paris, Dian 
was holding him, speaking in quiet, familiar tones. 

Lisle put his head down in the hollow of his arm 
and stood very still for a moment. 

“We’re going home, Little Master. We’ll be 
there soon,” Dian said again, and Lisle turned 
toward him as children and animals always did. 

“Yes, home,” he said weakly, but when Dian 
offered to carry him, he shook his head. 

“It’s better so, Little Master, for dressed as you 
are you will not be safe in the streets. It’s near now, 
and soon you’ll be safe and quiet.” Dian lifted him 
as he spoke and walked quickly with his long, easy 
strides until he came to the Saint Frere house. He 
went in through the cellar window, turned and drew 
Lisle in after him, then listened intently. There 
was no sound anywhere. Then he struck the flint 


In the Bakery Shop and Out of It 255 

and tinder which he kept on a shelf near the window 
and lit a lanthorn which he also kept on the shelf. 
It was the same green lanthorn which Marie Jo¬ 
sephine had lit when she went down to the secret 
cellar. 

Then Dian spoke to Lisle. 

“Little Master, I am taking you where you will 
be safe. It is a place that Monsieur your grand¬ 
father loved, and it was built by the Lisle Saint 
Frere whom you have always loved to think about. 
Come with me, and mind your steps well, for we 
are going down a secret stairway into a hidden 
room.” As he spoke, Dian led Lisle across the 
cellar, and stooping at the seventh stone, pressed it 
and it opened. 

Down, down into the gloom below them, the last 
Lisle Saint Frere followed Dian the shepherd, down 
to the cellar built by the first Lisle Saint Frere, deep 
in the heart of the earth! 


Chapter XX 


LISLE SEEKS ADVENTURE 

Light from the green lanthorn and from two 
candles on the shelf flickered on the tapestry in the 
hidden cellar, bringing out unexpected gleams of 
rose and blue in its faded grey weaving. At one end 
of the long, strange room was a heap of rugs and 
velvet draperies and some blankets and there was a 
big tiger skin on the rough stone floor. 

A table covered with a crimson brocaded cloth 
stood near the chest. Dian had found some boards 
in the upper cellar and had thrown them down the 
secret slide. With these he had made the table and 
he was now making a sort of bed. He was stooping 
over his work, his red locks falling about his shoul¬ 
ders, his chisel and wooden nails beside him on the 
floor. Lisle sat on the chest watching him, his hands 
clasped about his knees. It was five days since Dian 
had rescued him from the baker’s shop. At first he 
had not been able to take an interest in anything 
except the facts that the shepherd had told him that 
first day, when they were safe in the hidden cellar, 
that his mother was a prisoner in the house of his 
Great-aunt Hortense, that the old lady herself had 
256 


Lisle Seeks Adventure 257 

died, and that Rosanne was safe with Humphrey 
Trail, who had rescued her the night that Lisle had 
been abducted. 

Lisle had slept in a sort of stupor all the next day, 
rousing only to take the soup or milk which Dian 
fed him. He had muttered about a cake with spun 
sugar, and a mouse. Toward evening he had be¬ 
come himself again, eager to hear all that Dian had 
to tell him, and plying the shepherd with questions. 
Les Vignes—was all going well there? Marie Jo¬ 
sephine, was she happy? Had they endured the 
winter without discomfort? Dian had answered all 
as best he could. He had told of Neville’s arrival 
in disguise and of the expected arrival of a mes¬ 
senger from the comtesse who never came. He told 
of the long winter evenings around Mother Bar¬ 
bette’s fire, and of how it had come to him, as he 
crossed the meadow one night, that he should go to 
Paris. He did not dwell too much on the danger 
they all were in, but Lisle seemed to grasp it. 

“You see, I’ve known the danger all winter, Dian. 
I’ve known it was there since the Tuileries were 
taken. I’ve known it all along since then. We must 
not stay here in this hidden room. We must be up 
and out!” he had said impulsively. 

That was the night after the rescue, and now the 
fifth day had come. Dian left him at intervals, 
bringing back food for them both. He shook his 
head when Lisle spoke of wanting to accompany 
him. 


258 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“You shouldn’t run all the danger yourself, Dian. 
You risked your life for me. Don’t you see I’m 
strong now and ready to help ? It’s my place to help 
you, to save mother and get her and Rosanne out of 
Paris. That was what was so awful about being in 
the baker’s shop, not doing anything, not being able 
to help,” he said, but Dian only shook his head as 
he rose from his work. 

“It’s lonely for you here and it’s dark and gloomy, 
too, but you are safe here and that is what counts 
the most. Never fear but your time will come to 
help. You’re helping now just by staying here. 
Your mother will be saved and she and Mademoi¬ 
selle de Soigne will get safe out of Paris,” Dian 
answered. 

“How do you know? How can you tell, Dian?” 
Lisle jumped up and came and stood in front of the 
shepherd, who looked up from his work. 

“I can not tell you how I know, Little Master. I 
knew that I or the good Humphrey would find you,” 
and then Dian told again about discovering the note 
in the cake at the spinner’s supper. Lisle loved to 
hear the story. 

“It was wonderful,” he said slowly as Dian 
finished speaking and went on with his work. Then 
Lisle hesitated. It was not easy for him to show 
emotion or sentiment of any kind. He put his hand 
on Dian’s shoulder as he bent over the boards with 
his saw. “There is no one like you, Dian,” he said. 

The shepherd had waited for questions about the 


259 


Lisle Seeks Adventure 

hidden cellar. It had amazed him that Lisle had 
not seemed to be surprised about it, but he was soon 
to know why. Lisle walked up and down for a time 
after he spoke to Dian. He rubbed his hand along 
the rough stone wall, lifted a corner of the tapestry 
curtain, and said: 

“It is very old, isn’t it, Dian?” 

“Very old, Little Master,” Dian replied. 

“Did my grandfather know about it?” was Lisle’s 
next question. 

“He knew and he told me,” came the shepherd’s 
answer. 

“Why did he not tell me, too?” demanded Lisle, 
and as he spoke he came back to the chest and sat 
down, looking eagerly across at Dian, his light brows 
drawn together in the frown that with him generally 
meant trouble. 

Dian stood up, straightening his great height. 
Then he walked slowly up and down the room, his 
hands locked in front of him, thinking deeply. When 
at last he answered Lisle he spoke slowly. “It is 
hard to tell you why, and I do not really know my¬ 
self, except that it was always the Little Mademoi¬ 
selle whom your grandfather thought the most 
about, and it was to her that he told the secret of 
the cellar. It is no longer a secret, and the time 
has come when it may shelter you all.” 

Lisle was standing in front of him, his eyes flash¬ 
ing blue fire. 

“He told Marie Josephine, that baby, told her 


260 


Red Caps and Lilies 

instead of me who am head of my house, now that 
he has gone. What can you mean, Dian, when you 
say that grandfather told Marie Josephine ?” 

Dian was reaching for his cloak which hung on a 
nail at one side of the secret stairs as he answered 
quietly: 

“The Comte Saint Frere thought that it was for 
the best. He said that the Little Mademoiselle was 
the one of you who thought the most, the one who 
cared for everyone and everything.” Dian turned 
and faced Lisle as he went on, speaking tenderly. 
“It was not indeed that you were not his dear be¬ 
loved grandson. He had many hopes and dreams 
for you, only the Little Mademoiselle dreamed, too. 
She was different.” 

As he spoke, Dian climbed the first step of the 
stairs. “I’ll be gone but a short time and we’ll have 
a good talk about it all when I come back,” he 
said, and then he climbed up the stairs, opened the 
secret panel, and, after sliding it back in place, went 
out through the cellar into the soft spring dusk. He 
was sad at heart, for he knew that Lisle was wounded 
in his pride, and that he was angry. It would not 
make things easier to have him so. He knew that 
it would be as well to leave him alone for a time, 
and he felt that it was the hour for him to pay a 
visit to Vivi and Rosanne. More and more the con¬ 
viction grew upon him that Rosanne’s situation was 
now becoming perilous, and that he must soon, at 
all costs, see that she was safely hidden in the secret 



Lisle Seeks Adventure 261 

cellar, until such time as he could effect an escape for 
the comtesse. 

He had seen Humphrey and had told him of 
Lisle’s escape and of his being safe in the hidden 
cellar. He knew that he had done well in telling 
Humphrey of the cellar, and one of the things he 
had decided to do next was to show it to him and to 
tell him of the secret panel and how to open it. 
Humphrey did not seem to realize his own danger, 
but Dian felt that it was there. Humphrey was an 
alien enemy of the Republic. His safety so far had 
lain largely in the fact of his being so typically a 
farmer. 

Surveillance was growing daily more strict. At 
any time both Humphrey and Rosanne might be 
discovered. Dian was thinking of all this as he 
walked through the crowded, unruly city, amid the 
sound of hammers on anvils and the rumble of tum¬ 
brils carrying poor victims to the guillotine. 

As he walked, his cloak thrown across his 
shoulders, his long even strides taking him over the 
ground in good time, he was thinking deeply, but he 
was in no way discouraged. He was right when he 
said to Lisle that he had deep faith in the safety of 
them all, but it was something that he could not 
put into words, something deep within him which 
spoke to him of good, and which gave him confi¬ 
dence. He turned to it as simply as a child, and it 
had never failed him. He had thought a great deal 
about Vivi while he had been in the hidden cellar 


262 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the last few days. He knew that there was very 
much that he could do for her, poor little igno¬ 
rant child, so kind of thought and action, so ready 
to do as they asked her, keeping their secret for 
them. There was a life of sunshine for Vivi, away 
from the dirty alley and the rough madness of Paris, 
of that Dian was sure, and for that he would work. 

He walked to the west gate and stood in the dusk, 
exchanging greetings with the soldiers on guard and 
with various vendors of hot soup, eau sucre, and 
coffee. Then he went on toward the Saint Antoine 
district, finding himself at last in the dingy alley 
where lived three people in whom he was deeply 
interested and whom he loved. 

Rosanne overwhelmed him with questions. Her 
joy in the thought of Lisle’s safety made her almost 
like the happy girl who used to ride up and down the 
long driveway at Les Vignes. 

“If only you could stay and tell us all about the 
hidden cellar!” she said as Dian came in bringing 
something almost like sunshine with him. 

Humphrey Trail was as interested as Rosanne. 
His honest face glowed with pleasure when Dian 
said: 

“The Little Master talked and talked of you, 
Humphrey. As soon as he knew about his mother 
and Mademoiselle he began to talk of you. ‘Hum¬ 
phrey Trail is my friend. He saved Rosanne and 
he gave me good counsel which I was too proud to 


Lisle Seeks Adventure 263 

take. Dian, I want to show that I am his friend, 
too/ he said.” 

Dian took a piece of paper from his pocket and 
read what was written on it. 

It was a copy of the note to Grigge which Raoul 
had taken through the gates. It read: 

“When this reaches you, aid Champar to do all 
that may be needful for the family at Les Vignes. 
Go with Champar in the coach to Calais, and give 
this note which is inclosed to one Anastasius Grubb, 
who is skipper of a fishing smack called the Sandlass. 
He is thick set, and has a black beard, and has a 
scar over his left eye. Deliver the note into his 
hands and into no other’s. I trust you. I know 
that you will be guided. Consult Champar the 
coach driver in case of danger. Dian.” 

What would those who trusted him say if they 
knew that he had sent this important note to the 
miserable boy who lived in a hovel at the gates of 
Les Vignes? Dian, in his wisdom, knew that he had 
done well. He had spent many a night in Pigeon 
Valley, when his eyes were blurred with weariness, 
teaching Grigge to read and write. He had kept 
up the boy’s courage when he had been in despair, 
and had given him a hold on life. He had strength¬ 
ened his love for young and helpless animals. He 
trusted him now to do this one great service. 

“The little Vivi is late. It is best that I go and 
find her,” Dian said, and as he spoke, he tore up 


264 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the copy of the letter, and threw it into the fire. 
Then he went out, leaving Humphrey and Rosanne 
to their simple supper of bread and greens. Dian 
wanted a word alone with Vivi. 

He went to the West Barricade and stood watch¬ 
ing the carts go through. He knew several of the 
soldiers who stood about and he nodded to Georges 
Fardou, who was on guard at the gate, and with 
whom he often had a word. He was about to turn 
away when two figures came flying through the 
gates, a girl and a boy! They stood still for a 
second, as though dazed. The next instant they 
threw themselves upon Dian. 

Fardou gave a gruff laugh, exclaiming, “Look 
here, young Vivi. There will be no more of this 
going in and out of the gates. You and your young 
tramp of a friend can keep inside. You’d never 
have gotten through to-day if I’d been on guard.” 

Dian never knew how he passed the next few 
minutes. His Little Mademoiselle, the wildest, dir¬ 
tiest little vagabond imaginable, was hugging him, 
whispering through soft sobs, “Dian, Dian, Dian.” 
Jean Barbette, a dusty, smutty-nosed boy, if ever 
there was one, held tight to his hand, fairly jumping 
for joy. Dian felt his heart give a great leap when 
he heard the guard call out “Vivi.” He himself had 
thought at first that Marie Josephine was Vivi. 
There was safety in this, beyond words to measure! 

He took them each by the hand, saying over his 


Lisle Seeks Adventure 265 

shoulder to Fardou, “I’ll see that they stay where 
they belong!” 

He walked with them quickly down a side street 
toward the alley. 

Lisle had sat still on the chest for some time after 
Dian left him. He looked at the quiet dusk of the 
old place, at the flicker of light from the green 
lanthorn, at the weird figures on the tapestry. He 
was angry, for his pride had been hurt, his sorest 
point. Grandfather had told Marie Josephine about 
the cellar instead of him, had told a mere child 
who could know little or nothing of what it meant. 

He would show them that he was no child to be 
kept in hiding! Dian had said that it was necessary 
that he stay in the cellar for the present, and had 
taken it for granted that he would do so, but he had 
not given Dian his word that he would stay. As he 
climbed up the secret stairs he was glad that this 
was so. He had watched Dian open the panel and 
when he reached the top of the stairs he did as the 
shepherd had done, and to his joy the panel slipped 
out easily. What would Marie Josephine say if she 
could see him now! 

He slipped the panel back in place, and stood for 
a moment in the dim cellar, the musty scent of apples 
and onions all about him. He thought of the night 
when he had come down for wood, leaving Rosanne 
singing in the salon, and of all that he had been 
through since then* He turned back toward the 


266 


Red Caps and Lilies 

secret panel, hesitated, then ran quickly up the dark 
stairway to the floor above. 

He was in his own house! He was master of 
that house! It had belonged to his forefathers 
and now it was his own, but as he went into the 
great, silent hall, he knew that he was not quite as 
he had been that night of the blizzard when he had 
toasted nuts with Rosanne. He had known grave 
danger and he had met with kindness. He had a 
feeling of gratitude for the bakery woman. He 
was sorry that all the pride and delight she had in 
her cakes had ended in the shattering of her shop. 
He felt an intense relief and thankfulness that 
Rosanne was not in danger and he wanted to get 
her safely out of Paris. Above all, he wanted to 
set his mother free. That was one of his plans, to 
go to Great-aunt Hortense’s house in some disguise. 
He was full of plans and longing for action, but out 
of all that he had learned these last weeks, he had 
not lost his pride. He had not been content to wait 
for Dian’s own good time. He had chosen a time 
himself. 

As he stood there in the dark hall, he thought he 
saw something move, and then decided that it was 
only the swaying of the velvet curtain leading into 
the salon. He put one foot on the stairs leading 
to the floor above and then paused, listening. He 
heard footsteps; they came from the direction of 
the cellars. He was not mistaken. It must be Dian 
who had come back through the cellar window. 


Lisle Seeks Adventure 


267 


The hot blood mounted to Lisle’s face. Dian had 
found that he was gone and was coming to look for 
him. He turned and looked back, and at that 
moment saw the tall figure of the shepherd in the 
half light. He was just about to speak to him when 
some one crouching by the velvet curtain jumped 
forward, and pointed a gun at Dian’s head. 

Lisle ran out of the shadow and threw himself 
in front of the shepherd, both arms outstretched. 
The gun fell to the floor with a crash and its owner 
began to sob. It was Henri! 


Chapter XXI 


IN THE HIDDEN CELLAR 

The three of them stood there in the great, dark 
entrance hall, Henri trying to speak through his 
sobs. 

“You, Monsieur Lisle! You are safe. I can not 
believe my eyes. I am glad, glad! You can not 
know—I was tempted. I was weak. They talked 
me over, Tortot and his friend, and they promised 
me a big reward, but I have known nothing but 
misery. Monsieur Lisle, you must believe me. I 
have known only horror since I helped them plan 
to take you away, and since the imprisonment of 
Madame, your mother, at the home of your aunt.” 
Henri clasped his hands in his earnestness. “I am 
in despair. I have known bad hours in this house. 
They have turned against me, Tortot and the others. 
They say that I am working against them. I 
thought just now that one of them had come to kill 
me. I promise now to do all I can to help you and 
yours.” 

Lisle’s face showed no signs of softening as he 
stood there facing Henri. He was full of excite¬ 
ment. He had come from the hidden cellar, and 
*268 


In the Hidden Cellar 269 

had found adventure before he reached the second 
story. He had no pity for Henri. 

“You saw to it that my mother was made a 
prisoner, and yet you dare to whine before me,” 
he exclaimed. 

Dian had stood silent during the words between 
Henri and Lisle. He saw what Lisle did not see, 
that Henri’s repentance was real, and that, in spite 
of his weakness and cowardice, Henri wanted now, 
most earnestly, to atone! It was a blessed thing 
for them all, that Dian knew this to be true. Henri 
was one of the people and he knew Paris well. 
Henri turned to Dian. 

“Tell the young master that it is so. Do not be 
mad enough to refuse my aid. I have joined up 
with a battalion and am leaving the city shortly. 
I did not mean them any real harm, only I was 
afraid-” 

“You need not give your cowardice as an excuse. 
It is you and those like you who are making this 
revolution a thing for fiends. It is you and your 
kind who are taking all the beauty from the thought 
of brotherhood. The Saint Freres have not shown 
you any kindness, you will say, and that may be true; 
but they trusted you, a woman and two children, 
alone and unprotected. They never did anything to 
deserve such rank disloyalty.” Dian spoke very 
sternly and turned in the next breath and addressed 
himself to Lisle. “You, too, are untrustworthy and 
disloyal,” he said, and looked straight into Lisle’s 



270 


Red Caps and Lilies 

eyes. Lisle’s eyes answered his, a world of grieved 
astonishment in their depths. 

Dian turned again to Henri. 

“Prove your words by some deed that will show 
you to be less a coward. I trust you now. I am 
taking this boy where he will be kept in safety. You, 
in the meantime, can try to find some way to undo 
your evil work. I can come and go by way of the 
broken window in the cellar. You know it well. I 
can receive a message from you if you have anything 
of import to tell me.” 

Henri came nearer to Dian as he spoke, looking 
at him in a way he had never looked at any human 
being before. It was as though he were seeing him¬ 
self for the first time. He put out both his hands 
toward Dian. 

“You trust me?” he faltered. 

Dian nodded. Then he turned and drew Lisle 
close, to him. He knew that he had spoken harshly. 
He had meant to do so. 

“He saved your life, for I might have killed you!” 
Henri said to Dian and the shepherd answered: 

“He is like that first Lisle Saint Frere, his long- 
ago ancestor.” 

Dian turned away after he had said these words. 
Then looking back at Henri, he went on, “Leave 
any message for me, here in this hall, under the car¬ 
pet by the stairs.” He went on down the hall, Lisle 
beside him. When they reached the cellar stairs 


In the Hidden Cellar 271 

he looked back. There was no sign or sound of 
any one. Henri was not following, not spying. 

When they reached the first cellar, they stood 
for a moment by the jam shelf where the swinging 
lanthorn cast its light upon them. Lisle caught hold 
of Dian’s arm and looked up at him. 

“You said I was like the first Lisle Saint Frere. 
You said it after I had disobeyed you. I’m sorry 
that I left the cellar when you trusted me to stay,” 
he said. 

Dian held him at arm’s length, smiling the smile 
that seemed to transfigure him, bringing a radiance 
to his face. 

“Yes, you did wrong. We all do. It is true that 
you are like the first Lisle. Listen, my child, there 
are great things for you to know. Awake to them! 
Think of the protection that has been with you and 
yours. You will see.” As he spoke, Dian went to 
the panel, and kneeling, opened it. It slid back 
and they descended backward into the depths. 

As Lisle reached the last step, his first impression 
was of light, and when he turned around, a blaze 
of candle radiance greeted him. He put his hand 
to his forehead, leaning back for a moment against 
the rough wall. 

The lighted cellar seemed unreal and so did the 
two figures who stood by the old, carved chest. One 
of the figures, with an odd cry that was half a laugh, 
half a sob, sprang forward and caught him about 


272 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the neck. She was a wild-looking, dark child with 
rough black locks which flapped against his face 
as she clung to him, but in spite of her rags and the 
strangeness of her appearance, he knew, when she 
called his name, that it was Marie Josephine! 

He was bewildered and it was not to be wondered 
at. After weeks of inaction in the bakery shop, 
the sudden wild rescue, the hidden cellar, leaving 
it, the episode with Henri in the hall, and now, 
wonder of wonders his sister, Marie Josephine! He 
felt her arms clinging to him and looking over her 
shoulder he saw—could he believe his senses?—lit¬ 
tle Jean Barbette, covered with dust and smiling out 
of his black eyes! 

“It is Jean!” he gasped. 

Jean was so delighted at Lisle’s surprise, that he 
began to hop about on one foot. “Yes, I came! I 
came all the way from Pigeon Valley to Paris! 
I’m going to tell Petite Mere all about it!” Jean’s 
eyes seemed fairly to blaze in his excitement. 

“Let us go over to the chest and sit down!” said 
Lisle, who was trying not to show his emotion and 
his unbounded surprise, but he failed in this, for they 
could all see that he was fairly dazed. He sat down 
on the chest with Marie Josephine beside him, and 
in spite of her dust and grime, he kept his arm close 
about her. Then he beckoned to Jean. “Come and 
sit on the other side, won’t you, Jean?” he said. 

Dian had gone over to the heap of rugs, and 


In the Hidden Cellar 


273 

coming back with a soft brown one, put it on the 
floor in front of the chest. Jean sat down on it 
with his legs crosswise. 

“You sit down between us on the chest, Dian,” 
suggested Marie Josephine excitedly. “We can 
talk and talk but I don’t know where to begin. 
There are so many things I want to tell and to 
hear about!” 

It was true. It was all so strange and unreal, 
the journey, their coming through the gates meeting 
Dian, then the alley, an odd dark room, a funny 
fat man, whose name was Humphrey Trail and who 
was Lisle’s friend, and with him Rosanne! Then 
the walk through the noisy streets with Dian to her 
own home, to the secret cellar! 

Marie Josephine had to be the one to talk first. 
She talked so fast and said so much that her words 
fairly tumbled over themselves, but her hearers were 
so interested that they did not miss one of them! 
Jean sat listening as eagerly as any one, nodding 
his head vigorously every now and then, and blush¬ 
ing at Marie Josephine’s praise of him. They 
drank in all she had to tell them of that spring 
night less than a week ago when she had dressed 
herself in the disguise which she had been all winter 
in procuring, and which she told them would furnish 
a story all of itself. She told of the pitiful whine 
of Flambeau when she had come away and left him, 
of the last glimpse of Mother Barbette’s cottage, 


274 


Red Caps and Lilies 

and then of her words to Grigge. She told of the 
run through the sweet, night air of their dear Pigeon 
Valley, and finally of finding Jean just behind her! 

When she reached this stage in her narrative she 
stopped for sheer lack of breath and Dian stood 
up, saying: 

“You both need food, Little Mademoiselle. I 
shall prepare it.” 

At these words of Dian’s Jean cried, “Bravo 1” 

Marie Josephine gave a happy little laugh. “Yes, 
we do, and I’ll stop talking altogether for a few 
minutes.” She turned toward her brother as she 
spoke. He was sitting with his head thrown back 
against the grey stone wall, his hands at his sides. 
He wore one of the dark velvet suits which brought 
back memories of the schoolroom. Dian had found 
it upstairs and had brought it down to him. Marie 
Josephine had only been told that Lisle was safe in 
the hidden cellar. She knew nothing of the baker 
shop. As she turned to look at him, he smiled back 
at her, the first time since he had smiled at the 
bakery woman over the cake. He was so astounded 
at what she had done, that he could scarcely be¬ 
lieve it was not all a dream. What was it Dian 
had said there by the panel, that wonderful smile 
on his face?—“think of the protection that has been 
with you.” Marie Josephine and Jean had come 
safely through to the heart of Paris. His sister 
was sitting there beside him in a disguise which she 
had thought of and carried out herself. She had 


In the Hidden Cellar 


275 


known high adventure, and she told it all simply as 
an interesting story, without a trace of vainglory. 

“Why did you come, Marie Josephine? Was it 
because of the hidden cellar?” Lisle asked her, 
and Dian, as he bent over his cooking in a far corner 
of the room, listened for her reply. He had built 
a small fire in a rough hollow of the floor and he was 
brewing chocolate. The fire made some smoke but 
not enough to cause discomfort, drifting off into the 
dim recesses of the alcoves beyond. 

“I came because of knowing about it, partly be¬ 
cause of that and partly because grandfather had 
told me that I was to tell about it if it were to save 
a life. I thought and thought about it all winter. 
It seemed as though the spring would never come. 
I knew no one would dream of letting me come, of 
course, and I didn’t tell any one but Jean about 
what I was going to do. If you want me to I’ll go 
right on telling some more while we have the choco¬ 
late. There is so much to tell!” 

Dian took off the red, brocaded cloth and brought 
out a white one from a shelf in a sort of small cavern 
in the wall. He spread it on the table. Marie 
Josephine jumped up, breaking off with, “I’ll set 
the table. I can talk while I’m doing it. Bring 
the silver, and the horn drinking cups, Jean. They’re 
there on the shelf. You see,” she looked across 
and smiled at Jean as she spoke, “I—I’ve been here 
in the hidden cellar before!” 

Lisle was still sitting with his head thrown back 


276 


Red Caps and Lilies 

against the stone wall, and as Marie Josephine 
looked over at him, a drinking cup in one hand and 
a silver spoon in the other, she noticed suddenly 
that his face was very white there in the candlelight 
and that there was something different about it. It 
was always like him to keep things to himself. She 
came across to him slowly. 

“You have been always in my thoughts, and that 
is why I came—because of maman and of you. She 
is safe at Great-aunt Hortense’s house and Dian 
will take care of us, but there is something that 
makes you different. What is it?” 

Dian brought a loaf of bread on a blue plate and 
put it on the table. He had already placed a dish 
of cheese by the jug of chocolate. Then lifting the 
table, be brought it up close to the chest. 

“Come and eat and drink. That is the best for 
now. There is much to tell on each side, for you 
are not the only one who has had adventures, Little 
Mademoiselle,” he said. 

“Yes, yes, I know; Rosanne. I am thinking all 
the time about it, how Humphrey Trail carried her 
through the snowstorm to that funny dark alley 
room.” She looked across uncertainly at Lisle. 
“There is something I do not know, something you 
have not told me,” she said slowly. 

Lisle stood up and caught her about the waist. 

“Come,” he said, “you are the worst little beggar 
as to looks I’ve ever beheld, isn’t she, Dian? But 
we’d rather have her just as she is than the greatest 


In the Hidden Cellar 


277 


beauty in Paris as it was in the good old days!” 
He bowed before her as he spoke and, to his sur¬ 
prise, she started the first steps of the minuet. How 
she blessed those hours after dinner, practicing with 
Bertran! She hummed the melody as she danced 
and she forgot everything, even the hot chocolate 
for the moment. It was Lisle, with his same old 
half-laughing, half-serious way. She was dancing 
with him in the secret cellar and, of all the strange 
happenings of the past week, this seemed the strang¬ 
est and in all ways the most wonderful. 

“Sometime I’ll tell you about a mouse,” he said 
as they went through the graceful measures. 

“A mouse ! What do you mean?” she questioned 
merrily, smiling over her shoulder at Dian and Jean. 

“And a cake!” he went on. 

“A cake! What do you mean?” she exclaimed 
again. 

“Come, please, and have the very nice chocolate,” 
pleaded Jean, and they both came running up to the 
table. 

It was a strange supper there in the deep dim 
cavern in the heart of the earth. Lisle and Jean 
brought the bed up to the table, and they sat down 
on it, opposite Dian and Marie Josephine. The 
hot chocolate in the old horn drinking cups was 
delicious, and it seemed to the two wayfarers that 
they had never tasted anything so good as the bread 
and cheese. 

“Tell me what you mean by a mouse and a cake, 


278 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Lisle,” Marie Josephine demanded, but her brother 
shook his head. 

“I’m too hungry just now, and I want to know 
what happened when you found that Jean had fol¬ 
lowed you. That’s where you left off in your story,” 
he said. 

Dian had told Marie Josephine that the good 
Yorkshire farmer had saved Rosanne from men 
who had tried to abduct her. He had told her at 
once that Lisle was safe in the hidden cellar and 
that her mother was in the house of Great-aunt 
Hortense, but more than this she did not know. She 
had taken for granted, in her fatigue and excite¬ 
ment, that her mother was quite safe, being in the 
house of her great-aunt, and as Lisle sat before 
her alive and well she could not but see that it was 
all right with him. 

“When I knew that Jean had really come, had 
followed me all the way, I was so glad! I can’t 
tell you how I felt, but it was like flying. We ran 
on and on through the woods, and we did not seem 
to be tired at all. We would rest now and then, 
and once I told a story, but I didn’t dare to stay 
still for very long, for fear Jean would fall asleep.” 

Jean blushed at this, and Marie Josephine added 
hastily: 

“It was hard for me to keep awake, too, for 
everything was asleep, even the owls, I think. It was 
wonderful, wasn’t it, Jean, there in the still night? 
I’d always wanted to be out in the woods in the 


In the Hidden Cellar 


279 


middle of the night, not just evening. When early 
morning came we were at the edge of the forest, 
and we went right up to the old green mill-inn!” 
Marie Josephine leaned forward eagerly as she 
went on, one hand stretched across the table: “The 
minute I saw the dark woman, I recognized her as 
the one who waited on us at lunch last summer, but 
of course I wasn’t a bit frightened because she 
thought we were just little tramp children. She was 
just going to tell us to be off when—what do you 
think?” She paused impressively. 

“What!” exclaimed Lisle. 

He was listening eagerly, a bit of color in his 
cheeks. Dian watched him, wondering if the first 
Lisle Saint Frere had been like him. Dian, too, was 
listening with all his heart to everything that Marie 
Josephine was saying. 

“Why, all of a sudden, who should appear at 
the edge of the forest and come running to us but 
Flambeau!” 

They all laughed at this statement, but their 
laughter sounded so odd, echoing through the long, 
low hollows and arches of the ancient place that they 
stopped almost as soon as they began, and Marie 
Josephine went on with her story. She told how 
the woman suddenly became very friendly and ush¬ 
ered them inside, how she became suspicious of the 
woman, and how Jean tried the door and found it 
bolted. 

“I couldn’t be really sure it was the same woman 


280 


Red Caps and Lilies 

I’d seen under our oak at Les Vignes, but I was 
almost sure, and I knew when we found that we 
were locked in.” They listened breathlessly while 
she told of the eave’s trough and their escape. 

“You talk for a while, Jean. Tell them the rest. 
Jean was so splendid. It was all his idea about the 
trough and the tree.” Marie Josephine sat back 
and rubbed her eyes, which smarted a little from the 
smoke of the fast-dying fire. 

Dian sat with his hands on his knees, his face 
almost stern in its earnestness. The woman from the 
green mill had been spying. He had always felt that 
it was a strange place, and so had Neville, though 
they had had no real reason to suspect it. He hoped 
with all his heart that the adventure of the green 
mill had been only an episode in the children’s 
strange journey, and that there would not be any¬ 
thing further to fear from that direction. 

Jean told of the happy meeting with the man 
who drove the coach. 

“There isn’t much to tell about it, for we went 
right to sleep and slept all day. The driver was 
a very nice man, and when I woke up I went and 
sat on the box with him, and we talked about all 
that’s going on. He told me his brother was fighting 
with the army of the Revolution. He was a kind 
man even if he was cross-eyed.” 

“What was his name?” It was Dian who spoke. 

Jean shook his head, and so did Marie Josephine. 

“I ought to remember but I don’t. A farm boy 


In the Hidden Cellar 


281 


came up to the cart and gave him a letter to deliver 
on his way back, just as we were getting out of the 
cart. The boy spoke his name but I’ve forgotten 
it,” answered Jean. 

A cross-eyed coach driver on the Calais road, a 
farm boy with a note for him to deliver on his 
way back. Dian bowed his head over his hands and 
sat quietly. As Jean went on Dian knew what he 
had so longed to know, that the note for Grigge 
had fallen safely into the hands of Champar the 
coach driver, who was his friend. 

“He asked him if he went near Pigeon Valley, 
and the driver said, ‘Yes, sometimes in good 
weather,’ and that he was going that way on his 
route back,” Jean said, thus giving Dian the knowl¬ 
edge he so longed to possess. 

“Do go on and tell how we walked all night be¬ 
cause we had slept all day,” put in Marie Josephine 
impatiently. 

“You tell, Little Mademoiselle,” said Jean. 

“It was the best time of all, I think, for though 
we were thrilled the first night we were—well, not 
frightened, but sort of not used to it all. We’d 
had a splendid rest all day and we were so excited. 
It was such a warm night, and the wild lavender was 
so sweet that the whole wood smelt of it. It was 
splendid out on the highroad, too, and we never met 
anything to frighten us. We had the food we’d 
both brought, and we ate it at dawn under a big 
flowering hawthorn tree. We kept on walking. 


282 


Red Caps and Lilies 

and we didn’t know how tired we were, until all of 
a sudden we couldn’t go another step. We went to 
sleep in a sort of summer house in the garden of 
an empty house. No one saw us, and in the after¬ 
noon we started on.” Marie Josephine hesitated, 
and then said honestly: 

“We were all tired out by that time and I was 
very cross.” 

“It was my fault because I was homesick,” put in 
Jean. 

“It wasn’t your fault any more than mine, for 
we were both homesick and Flambeau was a great 
worry.” 

“Where is Flambeau?” asked Lisle. 

“We’ve left him with some people in a farmhouse. 
We knew we simply couldn’t come through the gates 
with him,” answered his sister. 

“The Little Mademoiselle was very good to me 
when I was homesick on the third day. It was 
while the sun was going down, and we were sitting 
on a mound near a river where we could see it. It 
made me think of how we used to watch it sinking 
behind the woods when we used to come across the 
meadow with Dian and the sheep, and—and—I 
cried.” Poor Jean blushed as he admitted the last. 

“So did I almost. There were tears in my eyes, 
and some you didn’t see slid right down my cheeks, 
Jean. It was glorious, sitting there by the river, 
watching the sun say good-by to it, making it all 
gold and pink. I told Jean about the ‘Song of 


283 


In the Hidden Cellar 

Roland’ and we pretended to listen for his horn 
echoing down from the hills, just the way it must 
have sounded to the soldiers long ago when Roland 
blew the last blast as he was dying in the hills. 
The next day we had a long ride in a farmer’s cart. 
He was a fierce man with bristling moustaches even 
though he was a farmer. He said he hoped the 
guillotine would put an end to every aristo in the 
country. That ride helped a good deal, and when 
the farmer asked if we were hungry and we said 
we were, he gave us some young radishes and a 
half loaf of bread.” Marie Josephine stopped for 
a moment to draw a long breath, and then said re¬ 
gretfully: “We didn’t really have any exciting 
adventure except the one of the old green mill. We 
just trudged along and everyone took us for poor 
tramp children, though they all stared and asked 
questions about Flambeau. That was one reason 
why we left him with some nice children who lived 
in a house near Melon. They promised to take 
good care of him until we came for him, and to keep 
him locked up until we were out of sight so he could 
not follow us. I knew that Flambeau would make 
it much harder for us when we came to Paris, he 
looks so-” 

“Such an aristo,” suggested Lisle. 

They all laughed^ 

“That’s it,” assented his sister. “He’s such an 
aristo.” 

Dian stood up suddenly, and going over to the 



284 


Red Caps and Lilies 

stairs, listened. Then he started back a little, putting 
his hand out warningly toward the children. The 
next instant a breathless voice came down to them: 

“Tha said well when tha said the sliding was not 
large; an’ I live to reach the cellar I shall never 
come back again!” 

They all ran eagerly to the foot of the stairs. 
There, coming down backward, was Humphrey 
Trail and in front of him, moving cautiously, her 
hand on his shoulders, was Rosanne. Dian was 
up the stairs and had shut the panel in a second. 
Then he waited a few minutes, listening. When he 
returned Humphrey was surrounded by the children. 
Jean sat on his knee, Marie Josephine stood on one 
side, Rosanne next her, the two friends holding 
hands, and in front of him stood Lisle. Lisle was 
speaking and Marie Josephine was more surprised 
at his words than at the arrival of the farmer and 
Rosanne. 

“Humphrey Trail, I am glad to see you. Hum¬ 
phrey Trail, you were right and I was wrong. I 
did not take your warning. I kept on going to the 
baker’s shop until it became my prison. I brought 
Rosanne into awful danger and you rescued her. 
Humphrey, I—” He looked about the dim, bare 
place, weird in the uncertain light of the fast melt¬ 
ing candles. “You are welcome here,” he ended 
simply. 

Marie Josephine never knew, she said afterward, 
whether she was really awake, it all seemed so fan- 


In the Hidden Cellar 285 

tastic, the half-dark cellar, all of them there to¬ 
gether, Lisle talking about a prison in a bakery shop, 
and a note in a cake which Dian found at a spinner’s 
supper. She heard over again of Humphrey’s wrap¬ 
ping Rosanne in the blue velvet mantle, of his vain 
search for Lisle, of his meeting at the gates with 
Dian, of Vivi. 

They talked on, as Dian went through the dim, 
rocky alcoves beyond, making beds out of rugs and 
blankets and lighting candles, the striking of the 
flint and tinder making an odd sound in the stillness. 

Vivi had come in late that evening and had 
brought disquieting news. This Humphrey told 
Dian in an aside. She had spent a good part of the 
day roaming about, and had gone to the house of 
the Marquise du Ganne. With other curious chil¬ 
dren of the street, she had looked through the 
broken door at the comtesse. She had heard that 
there were other prisoners hidden in the house and 
that in the course of a few days they were to be 
taken to the prison of La Force. She had heard, 
too, among the crowd that there was to be a general 
search for missing aristocrats through the Saint 
Antoine district. She had come in tired and excited, 
after Humphrey had searched for her in vain and 
had returned to the alley, and she had told him all 
she knew. What he had not understood, Rosanne 
had explained in English. They had thought it best 
that Vivi should not know who they were, as much 
for her own safety as for theirs; so, when they left, 


286 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Humphrey put a mound of coins on the table and 
said to her: “Th’art faithful. We ha’ trust in tha. 
I shall come back,” but he did not tell her where 
they were all going. 

Rosanne had put her arms around her friend and 
cried, and when Humphrey carried her out of the 
door, she had said earnestly: 

“I, too, shall see you again. We are friends, 
Vivi” 

It was a grave risk that Humphrey ran, for there 
was no friendly snowstorm to cover their getting 
away, but the alley had been deserted and he had 
concealed Rosanne completely with his cloak. 

“Dian, I wish we had brought Vivi with us. I 
think all the time of Vivi,” Rosanne said as he 
came up to her, a pillow for her bed and Marie 
Josephine’s in his hands. 

The shepherd smiled. 

“You need not be afraid for the little Vivi, Made¬ 
moiselle. She is safe in the only home she has ever 
known, and there are bright days ahead for her. 
She is better off now than she knows. Have no 
thought for her but one of love.” He paused a 
moment. “The good God who sent us Vivi loves 
her, Mademoiselle,” he said. 

Marie Josephine was half asleep, her funny, 
tangled shock of hair on Rosanne’s shoulder, but 
her eyes, when she looked up at Dian, were bright 
with excitement. 

“I may go to maman to-morrow, promise me, 


In the Hidden Cellar 


287 


Dian. I told you in the alley room that I would be 
patient about not seeing her to-night, but to-morrow 
early I must go straight to her and to Great-aunt 
Hortense. It will be quite safe for me in the streets 
in my disguise.” She caught his arm and looked up 
at him as she spoke. 

Dian looked down at Marie Josephine and said 
to her simply: 

“There is real work for you to do to-morrow. 
You have come just in time, and you have not come 
in vain, Little Mademoiselle. I hope that you will 
see your mother to-morrow.” 


Chapter XXII 


CHAMPAR TO THE RESCUE 

Grigge unfastened the sheepfold gate and then 
turned and faced Neville, who stood beside him. 

“You’d better stop worrying about those who are 
away, and keep your worry for those at home,” he 
said. 

“What do you mean by that, Grigge? There’s 
no danger to Les Vignes. The trouble is all the 
other way,” Neville answered, leaning back against 
the grey paling. He was tired out and covered with 
mud. He had just returned from a vain attempt to 
find the runaways, and he was not eager to face 
either the governess or Mother Barbette. 

“Things happen quickly these days. You can’t 
tell what may happen next. Your fine friends up at 
the house are none too safe. There were five fires 
not so very far from here only last week. One of 
the houses burned was the home of a friend of the 
old man’s.” By “the old man,” Grigge meant 
Marie Josephine’s grandfather. 

Neville’s face was white in the dancing sunshine. 
He was not able to deny the truth of what Grigge 
said, and he was thinking of the two lost children. 
He did not know what to do. 


288 


289 


Champar to the Rescue 

“Dian should never have gone away. It would 
be better, a thousand times better, to have Dian with 
us,” he said. 

Grigge nodded. Here was one point on which he 
thoroughly agreed with Neville. 

“That’s true! He shouldn’t have wasted his time 
looking out for those that don’t deserve it. He’s 
worth all of them put together!” he said. Then he 
suddenly thought of the fight he had had with Jean, 
and of how the Little Mademoiselle had cried out, 
“What would Dian say!” As he stood there kick¬ 
ing his heels against the wooden gate, Grigge knew 
that he cared more about what Dian would say than 
about anything else in the world, for Dian had 
helped him to keep his hold on life, and to fight 
despair. He had taught him to love the sun and 
the stars, the flowers and the young animals. It 
was easier to love these than to love people. 

“I rode like the wind and may have passed them 
by. I dared not ask questions. I had a cup of 
coffee at that old green mill-inn and I don’t like it. 
The woman who waited on me asked questions. I 
put her off, you can be sure of that. She knows 
about what is going on here. She knows the Du 
Mondes are here, and that old Martin and I are the 
only men left to guard the place. When I rode 
away she called after me: ‘You must be lonely out 
Pigeon Valley way, you and old Martin. You’ve a 
pretty flock to look out for!’ ” Neville stopped 
short and looked keenly at Grigge, who returned 


290 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the look doggedly. “If I thought you’d done any¬ 
thing tricky, you young good-for-nothing!” he ex¬ 
claimed, eyeing Grigge suspiciously. Grigge said 
nothing, though he stuck his tongue out at him 
impudently. 

Neville turned away. He was angry at himself 
for having told Grigge, whom he heartily disliked, 
anything about his worries. The boy’s voice fol¬ 
lowed him: “You’d better keep your wits here at 
home. Things are happening fast these days. One 
day here, and the next gone.” 

When Neville left him, Grigge slouched back 
against the gate, his hands in the pockets of his 
brown shepherd’s smock. He looked less badly 
nourished than in the wintertime. His gaunt face 
was faintly brown from long days in the spring 
meadows with his flock. There was little that he 
really knew about what was going on in the country, 
but he did know that there was turmoil in the towns 
nearest them and that Les Vignes was in danger. 
Neville was like the aristocrats, for he did not see 
danger until it was fairly upon him. Grigge gleaned 
every bit of information that he could from passing 
peddlers, from farm men who came by, from every¬ 
one who had anything to tell. There was no danger 
for himself or his family, the rude huts along the 
back road would be as safe as could be, but the great 
house on the terrace was in grave peril, and those 
who lived in it would not believe it! 

Grigge turned on his heel and went out toward 


291 


Champar to the Rescue 

the highroad. As he reached the opening in the 
hedge, he looked through and fairly gasped in as¬ 
tonishment. The coach for Calais stood near the 
gates! Grigge ducked through the hedge and came 
up to it. The driver saw him and jumped down 
from his high seat. The two stood facing each other, 
the cross-eyed driver and Grigge. There was no one 
else around. 

“I want to see a boy named Grigge Barbette on 
urgent business!” said the coach driver at last. 

“I’m Grigge Barbette!” exclaimed Grigge, and 
he was so excited that he caught hold of the man’s 
arm. “What do you mean? Have you a message 
for me?” he asked. 

The coach driver eyed him sharply. 

“How am I to know that you really are Grigge 
Barbette?” he said. 

Grigge nodded toward the row of huts in the 
distance. 

“Any one there will tell you,” he answered. 

The man looked at him a moment longer. Then 
he put his hand in an inside pocket and drew out a 
folded piece of paper sealed with a red seal. 

“This is for you,” said Champar. “There’s no 
one I’d take all this fuss for but Dian the shepherd. 
He knows, and I know, and the Lord above knows 
I’d not be here on earth to-day but for him!” 

Grigge tore open the note and read it. His long 
face turned ashy white as he read. When he finished 


292 Red Caps and Lilies 

he looked up in a sort of daze at the coach driver, 
who said: 

“I’m here and I’ll do what’s best. I wonder if 
they know up there at the house that it may not 
be standing to-morrow night! I don’t care much 
whether it is or not myself, or wouldn’t if Dian 
didn’t set such store by it. Well, I’ll do what I can. 
That’s what he wrote in the note. ‘Do what you 
can. Get the family at Les Vignes to some hiding 
place near Calais if there is danger.’ ” 

Champar looked at Grigge, who returned his look 
almost unseeingly. 

“You mean there really is danger here?” 

The driver laughed gruffly as he replied: 

“Sans-culottes from Saulieu are out on the war¬ 
path. They’ve been joined by former olive mill 
workers down that way. They burned down the 
chateau of the Comte d’Veraux night before last. 
They have this place in mind. The people do not 
love Les Vignes. Your own cousins are with the 
rabble!” 

Grigge stood with the note in his hand, looking 
up at Champar. 

“He says to consult with you in case of danger,” 
he gasped. It was more than for a moment he 
could sense or understand. Here was word from 
Dian. He was trusted to fulfill a mission—trusted! 
Dian had chosen him. He had written, “I trust 
you!” Whatever he did he would do like Cham¬ 
par, for Dian’s sake! 


293 


Champar to the Rescue 

Why should he save the inhabitants at Les 
Vignes? There was nothing that they had ever 
done for him. Days of vengeance were at hand! 
He stood still in the roadway, the letter clasped 
tight in his hand. 

“You understand that if they are to get away it 
must be at once. I can take them some of the way 
at no great risk to myself. I will take them to a 
barn near Calais. The shepherd, in his note to me, 
says they must go there. He trusted these letters 
to that farmer boy, Raoul. Well, the shepherd is 
not afraid to trust! Come, we must go up to the 
house. A coach driver has the chance to learn many 
things, and I know the rabble have shouted the name 
Saint Frere and Les Vignes. I know they will 
come!” As he spoke, the coach driver took Grigge’s 
arm. 

Grigge never, as long as he lived, forgot those 
few minutes there in the dusky twilight. He often 
lived them over in the after years. He was fighting 
with himself. At last he said, “I must go, too, for 
I have a mission to look after in Calais. Come, we 
will go to them.” 

The coach driver talked very fast as they went 
through the woods. They must have some sort 
of a disguise, all of them. They could wear the 
servants’ clothes, and have, at least, the look of 
decent farmer people. They must be made to under¬ 
stand that they must come with them in order to 
save their lives, and that they must do as they are 


294 


Red Caps and Lilies 

told. This pleased Grigge very much! At least he 
would show them that they were entirely at the 
mercy of himself and the driver! They would do 
as they were told! 

They found everyone out on the terrace, and 
when Grigge and the driver approached, Bertran 
and Denise ran to meet them. 

“Tell us the news!” they cried. 

Cecile and Hortense, each with an arm about 
the governess, came slowly down the terrace steps. 
Their eyes were red with crying. It was nearly a 
week since the children had gone, and there had 
been no word of them. 

The coach driver did not bow, for he was a good 
republican at heart, and in those days of the revo¬ 
lution bowing had gone out of fashion. He was 
doing this for the sake of a friend who had done 
much for him, and he wanted them to understand 
this. 

“Citizeness, you and your charges are in grave 
danger. I hope you deserve the good chance for 
your life which I am giving you. I have a note from 
Dian, the shepherd, who is in Paris-” 

Madame Le Pont gave an exclamation, and 
Denise ran up to the driver and caught his hand. 

“Tell me, did he speak of maman and Lisle, and 
have you heard news of my little sister?” she cried. 
Her hair fell in disorder about her tear-stained face 
and her lips trembled. 

The driver shook his head. “I don’t know what 



Champar to the Rescue 295 

you mean. I only know what I’m to do, and that is, 
in case of danger, to take you as near to Calais as I 
dare; and that will be a good ways from the Calais 
gates, I can tell you. I think something of my own 
head and have no wish to have it chopped off by 
Madame La Guillotine. Well, there’s danger right 
enough. You must come with us at once. Have 
you wits enough about you to rig yourselves up in 
plain, decent, sensible farmer clothes? I often take 
farmer folks into the towns. Hurry! You’ve no 
time to lose. They are burning houses all along the 
line and yours is on the list!” 

While the driver had been speaking they had all 
gathered about him, too amazed to utter a sound. 
When the governess started to protest, the driver 
put up his hand. 

“You are stupid, citizeness, and by your stupidity 
may loose your own life and the lives of those in 
your care. Get yourselves dressed at once. My 
coach is in the highroad. We must start within an 
hour. Every rod nearer to Calais means safety for 
you, and just that much farther away from some of 
your enemies.” 

“I’ll ride my horse,” said Bertran a little stupidly. 
He was dazed by all that the man had said. 

“You’ll do it if you want to lose your fine, black 
head, but not otherwise, my young popinjay,” an¬ 
swered the driver calmly. 

Cecile came up to him and spoke to him gently, 


296 Red Caps and Lilies 

her eyes looking straight into his as she held out 
her hand. 

“In spite of all you say, you are saving our lives,” 
she said. “May I see the note from Dian? I know 
his writing. We must be very sure, you understand, 
at a time like this!” 

The driver put his hand inside his belt and drew 
out his note from Dian. Cecile read it and then 
addressed Madame le Pont. 

“It is from Dian. He says that we are in danger 
and in an emergency this man is to help us. We are 
to go to some hiding place near Calais and wait 
there for help.” Cecile’s voice shook with excite¬ 
ment, in spite of her outward calmness. 

The driver turned to Grigge. 

“The boy here will see to you after that. I have 
to go straight to Calais and dare not be late. All 
you can expect from me is the use of my coach as 
far as I think it best to take you without too much 
risk to myself. I’ll tell the shepherd where you are, 
or get word to him safely, but be sure to understand 
that it’s for his sake I’m doing this, and not yours!” 

There was no time to lose, the driver had said. 
It seemed as though the minutes had wings. They 
planned, discussed, rummaged in the servants’ old 
apartments, found suitable clothes, and put them on. 
Then they packed special valuables which Neville 
buried in the ground. At last they were ready to 
start. First they went through the woods to Mother 
Barbette’s cottage. They had sent Grigge and the 


297 


Champar to the Rescue 

driver to beg her to go with them, but she insisted 
that nothing could induce her to do so. She would 
wait there for her naughty, darling Jean. The driver 
told her she was right. “Nothing can happen to you 
if you go to your cousins in the hovel,” he told her. 

Mother Barbette wept bitterly as she saw them 
coming toward her through the clearing in the 
woods. They did not seem at all funny to her in 
their disguise, though at another time she would 
have had a hearty laugh at Bertran in his farmer 
boy’s smock, his hair flapping about his face, and 
at the dignified Hortense in faded grey homespun, 
her hair in stiff braids on each side of her ears. It 
was no time for laughter. They were all tense and 
white. The governess put her head on Mother 
Barbette’s shoulder with a sob as she said good-by. 

“We will surely find the children and bring 
them safely back with us when we come,” she said 
brokenly. 

“They are safe. I’m sure of it, and I don’t worry 
half as much as you think I do, Madame. I know 
them both so well. They are so smart. I know my 
Jean will come back to me, and I think that Dian 
will bring him,” answered the simple soul bravely, 
though the tears ran down her cheeks. 

“Dear Mother Barbette, this isn’t good-by. It’s 
just au revoir. We will not rest until we find Marie 
Josephine and Jean.” As she spoke, Cecile put her 
arms around Mother Barbette and kissed her. 


298 


Red Caps and Lilies 

The driver, who was really a kind-hearted soul, 
cleared his throat. 

“The moon’s up and it’s time to start. No more 
of this good-by business, or it’ll be good-by for 
good,” he said, as they all stood at the cottage door, 
the pine-filled air from the forest blowing about 
them. 

Grigge spoke to his aunt. 

“You’d best go to the hut and stay if there’s trou¬ 
ble. You’ll be safe enough there,” he said, and he 
did not sneer as was his wont. There was a dignity 
about him that none of them had seen before. He 
was risking his life for people whom he despised, 
and he was doing it for the sake of a friend. Per¬ 
haps, sometime, he would do the like for sheer love 
of his brother man. At any rate, he had taken the 
first step in that direction. 

They were off at last, all of them in the great 
roomy coach, Bertran and Grigge sitting beside the 
driver. The horses, after a good rest and feed, 
went like the wind itself! It seemed as though they 
knew that danger lay behind! 

The girls and the governess were tired and be¬ 
wildered and heartsick. They could think of noth¬ 
ing but Marie Josephine. Finally, after they had 
thought and said all that they could about the run¬ 
aways, Denise remarked: 

“It’s so wonderful to think they dared to go to 
Paris. The road is direct enough and Marie Jose- 


Champar to the Rescue 299 

phine knows it well by coach, but little Jean knows 
nothing.” 

“I teased him once because he had never been any¬ 
where, and he said some day he was going to visit 
his cousins near Melon,” said Bertran. 

The driver turned and looked at him. “Melon— 
let me see—Melon. Why, I took in two children 
the other day. They seemed dead beat out, and 
slept all day in the back of the coach. The boy told 
me, in the evening, that he had cousins near Melon!” 

The exclamations and the questions were so 
numerous that Champar was sorry he had spoken. 

“Stop and tell us at once. We must know about 
the children going to Melon,” they begged, but he 
paid not the slightest attention to their entreaties 
and only urged the horses to go faster. He intended 
driving all night, and it was not until he stopped to 
rest the horses before they took a hill, that he spoke 
again at all. 

“Now just you listen to me, citizeness, and you 
young people. You’ve got yourselves to think about 
and you’re not going to help the young brats who’ve 
run away by getting your heads snapped off by the 
guillotine, which,” he went on, speaking impressively 
and with something of a relish, “is what is happen¬ 
ing to most of your acquaintances, and serves them 
right, too, some of them. Now, maybe the two I 
picked up were the parties you’re talking about. The 
boy certainly did look a great deal like the woman 
you went to say good-by to at the cottage. A fine 


300 


Red Caps and Lilies 

woman,” he went on meditatively, “a good, honest, 
sensible woman. Well, I’ll tell you what I think, 
and you needn’t have any fits about it. I think them 
two parties is just as lively to-day as you are your¬ 
selves. I think they’re in Paris, and I’ll get word 
to the shepherd about them, too!” After he had 
delivered this long speech, the driver picked up his 
whip to go on when the governess spoke again. 

“Above everything we must find the little girl and 
boy, you know,” she said, holding her odd striped 
shawl drawn tightly about her shoulders. Her face 
looked wan and pinched under her dark bonnet. 

“Above everything, citizeness, you ought to want 
to save the necks of these children even though you 
may not care a fig about your own,” Champar re¬ 
plied. Then he began to sing a gruff doggerel, 
drowning entirely Madame le Pont’s fervent reply. 

Toward dawn they slept for a few hours. In the 
morning they stopped under a blooming apple tree 
and ate some food. Champar seemed pleased with 
the progress they were making and condescended to 
sing them a song or two. People passed by in 
farmer carts and waved a greeting. No one thought 
it at all strange to see a farmer’s family having a 
picnic under an apple tree. 

They were off again, their coach making a cloud 
of dust behind them. All that day Champar and 
Grigge talked earnestly together, ignoring Bertran 
who sat beside them, and whom Grigge snubbed at 
every occasion. It was decided that they were to 


301 


Champar to the Rescue 

stay in a barn, back of a small farmhouse, which 
had met with a fire the year before, and which be¬ 
longed to an uncle of Champar’s. The coach driver 
would leave food with them on his way back from 
Calais, and would report to Dian as to their where¬ 
abouts. That was all that he could do, and it was 
a risk at any cost, though the barn was in a lonely 
bit of country near the sea, and quite the other way 
from the main road to Calais. 

It was midnight before they saw the lights of 
Calais and the first grey outline of the sea. Cham¬ 
par knew his way well for he had often visited his 
uncle. Sure enough there was the barn, grey, and 
deserted by everything but rats! Champar and 
Grigge and Bertran carried in the rugs and blankets 
and enough food to last overnight. Then Grigge 
turned to them all. 

“There is a mission I have to do. I will come 
again,” he said. 

There was a moment’s silence as they watched 
the two climb up on the coach. Grigge turned and 
spoke to them again. “You are to stay here until I 
come,” he said. 

“We trust you, Grigge.” It was Cecile who 
spoke, her lovely face very white in the starlight. 

They called their thanks after the coach driver. 
Champar’s cross-eye leered at them over his shoul¬ 
der. He waved his hand. 

“Keep to yourselves, and keep an eye on that fat 
boy or he will give you all away!” he called. 


Chapter XXIII 


IN GREAT-AUNT HORTENSE’S HOUSE 

“Was it while the bakery man was saying that 
he would make you cry that you heard the noise 
first, or just before?” 

“Lisle said it was while the man was speaking 
that he heard the noise first. You’re so excited, 
Marie Josephine, you don’t listen to anything.” As 
she spoke, Rosanne took a sip of the tea which Hum¬ 
phrey had just brewed for them. “It’s so bitter, 
Humphrey,” she said to him over her shoulder. 

The two girls sat on each side of Lisle on the 
chest. It was the next day after they had come to 
the cellar, and to Rosanne it was most bewildering 
to be there in the dusk of the old place with her dear 
Marie Josephine by her side. 

Humphrey came up to them with a steaming jug. 

“Never tha mind if it’s bitter, lass, take th’ tea 
and let it warm tha well.” As he spoke Humphrey 
peered at Rosanne anxiously, his round face full of 
concern. He had rescued her himself and had had 
her in his care all these long weeks. Her face 
seemed very white in the grey shadows of the hidden 
cellar. Marie Josephine and Lisle held out their 
302 


In Great-Aunt H or tense’s House 303 

horn drinking cups for more tea, and then Hum¬ 
phrey filled a cup for himself. He was a little 
worried about his homespun traveling bag which 
he had brought with him to Paris, and which Dian 
was to bring when he came back from a visit to the 
alley. 

“Sit here, Humphrey Trail; there’s room.” Lisle 
shoved along the wide chest as he spoke and the 
farmer sat down beside him. He had never heard 
so much talk going on at one time before in his life. 
It had seemed, since he had arrived the night before, 
that everyone wanted to speak at the same time, and 
that each one said the same things and asked the 
same questions over and over. Marie Josephine 
was saying for the third time, “I’m going to see 
maman at Great-aunt Hortense’s to-day!” Well, 
that was a task that had been left for Dian, telling 
Marie Josephine that her mother was a prisoner and 
that her aunt had died. Part of the telling Lisle 
did at once. 

“Great-aunt Hortense died some weeks ago, 
Marie Josephine,” he said. 

She looked at him, her black eyes wide with 
astonishment. He was growing more used to her 
wild, unkempt appearance, but he still grinned every 
time he looked at her. 

“Poor Great-aunt Hortense! How she must miss 
everything! She did so love to be in it all, never 
wanted to be left out of anything, even our children’s 


304 


Red Caps and Lilies 

parties! Great-aunt Hortense gone—why—it makes 
everything seem different!” 

“Everything is different.” As he spoke, Lisle 
stood up and went over to Humphrey, who had put 
the cover on his precious little tin of tea. “I must 
talk with you, Humphrey Trail,” he said, and drew 
the farmer along to the far end of the room. “It’s 
no use,” he went on, speaking in low tones, a pre¬ 
caution entirely unnecessary, for the two girls were 
deep in the account of their various adventures. “I 
simply must get into a disguise and go out on to 
the streets. I can’t stay here any longer, when my 
mother is a prisoner!” 

Humphrey answered him: “Tha went out once 
almost to tha death. Th’art a brave lad but tha 
needs caution. Ha’ patience now until th’ shepherd 
can best find a way for us all to help. He found 
tha when I was fair distracted.” 

Lisle put a hand on each of Humphrey’s shoulders 
and smiled across at him. 

“Humphrey Trail, Humphrey Trail!” he ex¬ 
claimed. “I am glad I have you for a friend. What 
can we ever do for you, after all you have done for 
us!” 

Humphrey’s answer surprised him beyond mea¬ 
sure. 

“Be grateful for tha life and make thaself con¬ 
tent soon with the simple ways of the farm in York¬ 
shire !” 

Lisle still stood with his hands on Humphrey’s 


In Great-Aunt H or tense’s House 305 

shoulders, and as the farmer spoke he realized 
suddenly their immediate peril. They were to leave 
not only Paris but France, too, and Humphrey 
Trail was offering them all he had to give in the 
way of hospitality in England! 

Lisle looked across at the girls, and then back at 
Humphrey. 

“You mean we are to go to England. There is 
so much to think about and to plan. I wish we 
three, you, Dian, and I, could be alone so that we 
could plan what’s best to do,” he said. 

It was just at that moment that the shepherd ap¬ 
peared, coming down the secret stairs backward. 
Marie Josephine and Rosanne jumped off the chest 
and ran up to him. He stood in their midst with 
his hands at his sides, looking about at all of them, 
and for the first time since they had known him, all 
of them felt that he, for the moment, was fighting 
something that was trying to overpower him, and 
that this something was fear! It was gone almost 
as it came, his face cleared, and he smiled, putting 
his hand on Marie Josephine’s shoulder. 

“There is work for you, Little Mademoiselle,” 
he said. 

Lisle had come up to them. 

“Let there be work for me, too, Dian,” he said. 

Dian nodded. “Yes, work for each one of us so 
that we may go safely out of this mad city, and that 
you who are in danger may find refuge in England.” 
As he spoke he took Marie Josephine’s hand and 


306 


Red Caps and Lilies 

went on speaking, this time addressing himself 
directly to Humphrey: 

“The servant Henri was genuine in his repentance. 
He has offered practical help in one direction. I 
will return with the Little Mademoiselle later in the 
day.” 

Lisle broke in impatiently: “What can Marie 
Josephine do that I cannot do if I’m disguised 
properly? Why should she take the risk while I am 
here?” he protested. 

Dian answered him quietly: “The Little Made¬ 
moiselle will be safe. You came between me and a 
gunshot last night. Help me once again by staying 
here until I am ready.” 

He lifted Marie Josephine on to the first rung of 
the tall ladder stairs and then started up after her. 
The others watched them from below. 

When they had closed the secret panel, Dian 
stood looking down at Marie Josephine, a world 
of compassion in his eyes. 

“Little Mademoiselle, you are like your grand¬ 
father. Remember him to-day, for there is much 
for you to do. Your mother is a prisoner in the 
house of your Great-aunt Hortense who died some 
weeks ago. She is in peril, but you can save her!” 

Dian had spoken the hard words quietly. It was 
better to say them all at once, and not wait until the 
time came to act. Her eyes met his bravely and her 
answer was characteristic. 

“Lisle wants to be the one, poor Lisle!” she said. 


In Great-Aunt Hor tense’s House 307 

“He cannot help at the moment. Now I will 
tell you how you can aid in saving your mother. We 
have all told you, indeed you know, that you came 
so easily through the city gates because you are, in 
your disguise, very much like the little Vivi, who is 
Mademoiselle de Soigne’s friend. Vivi goes about 
the city everywhere. She is known by soldiers, door¬ 
men, street people, and their children. She sells 
licorice water, as did her father, and she is popular 
among the crowds. One of the men on guard at 
the west gate is her especial friend, and Little Made¬ 
moiselle, when you and Jean came through the gates 
he thought you were Vivi and one of her chums. If 
you will go to the house of the Marquise du Ganne 
with Vivi’s licorice water tray, and sell your wares 
among the crowds who daily throng the lower halls, 
you can help to save your mother!” 

Dian sat down on an overturned barrel, and 
Marie Josephine placed herself on the lowest step 
of the cellar stairs. 

“Maman,” she murmured faintly. “I want to 
see maman.” Tears brimmed in her eyes and fell 
silently on to her shabby jacket. She brushed them 
away with the back of her hand, and in spite of his 
pity and love for her, Dian smiled. It was so like 
her unconsciously to act her part. He waited with 
his usual patience until she was quiet, then he said: 

“Have we not always felt that things would come 
right if we did not let in fear. All is going well for 
us, and we can look beyond to-day as we did the 


308 


Red Caps and Lilies 

time we watched the storm from the terrace and 
you were the first to see a gleam of gold through the 
black clouds! Do not fear for your mother, only 
have faith. Now listen well. Henri is not bad, only 
weak, and he wants to make amends. He is now a 
soldier of the army of the revolution, and he leaves 
with his regiment at three o’clock to-day. He has 
been on guard all the morning in the hall of your 
great-aunt’s house. Food is always brought to your 
mother at noon. Henri says that she is then left 
entirely to herself until night. He has been on guard 
during the week, and, as he has served in your great- 
aunt’s house, he knows every corner of it.” Dian 
paused a moment and then went on slowly: “He 
knows of a small door on the first floor which leads 
into the garden, and he has given me the key to this 
door. People are not supposed to go to the upper 
floor where your mother is imprisoned, but little Vivi 
has been there several times. You know the house, 
and the way to go down the back stairs. You are 
Vivi from now on. She is safe at home, gladly stay¬ 
ing inside in order to help her friends. I will tell 
you more as we walk along. Are you ready and 
willing to go?” 

“Yes, as quickly as ever we can.” She jumped to 
her feet and followed him up the cellar stairs. It 
all seemed too unreal and strange to be true, as they 
walked through the silent house and out of the door 
into the garden, just as she and Rosanne had walked 


In Great-Aunt H or tense’s House 309 

with Gonfleur that long ago—oh, so very long ago 
it seemed—the night of the bal masque! 

She and Dian mingled with the crowds going up 
the Champs Elysees, turning off on the street that 
led to the house of the Marquise du Ganne. They 
walked slowly. No one noticed them, and, except 
for an occasional greeting, no one spoke to them. 
Dian had often walked about with Vivi, and he was 
known to be a peasant from Brittany, which was 
his original home. 

They could see the dark blur of the Bois against 
the soft spring sky, and Dian welcomed the thought 
that came to him. He had something to say to 
Marie Josephine that was going to be difficult, and 
he felt that it would be easier for her to hear it in 
the sweet spring woods than on the crowded street, 
so he suggested that they go on to the Bois and rest, 
before they went to Great-aunt Hortense’s house. 

“There is more that I have to tell you, Little 
Mademoiselle,” he said. 

They sat down under a great elm, the tender 
green tracery of leaves above them, the peace of 
sunshine and warm earth all about them. Dian 
turned toward Marie Josephine, his face alight with 
earnestness. 

“Little Mademoiselle, you are ready to do brave 
things, but I am asking you now to do one that will 
be bravest of all. Champar, the coach driver, who 
is my friend, is risking much to save you all.” Dian 
looked off at the still, dim vistas of the wood as he 


310 


Red Caps and Lilies 

spoke. The noise of the city, the harsh yelling and 
the rumble of carts, came to them clearly from the 
near-by street. Dian put it so, saying that Champar 
was doing all this for them out of the kindness of 
his heart. He did not say that he had done the 
coach driver a service once which was so great that 
it had meant life itself to him. 

“Tell me what it is, Dian. I don’t know if I am 
brave. I’m not sure. But for maman I could do it. 
Shall we not go soon to Great-aunt Hortense’s house 
so that I can see maman?” said Marie Josephine. 
She could think of nothing else but that she was to 
see her mother and aid in saving her. She tried to 
realize that her great-aunt’s house was really her 
mother’s prison, but it only seemed like a bad dream. 
She could not believe that the dim, stately house, 
where they had so often gone for chocolate on 
winter afternoons, could now be a place from which 
to flee, an enemy’s stronghold. 

She looked confidently at Dian, and the trust that 
had always come to her when with him, steadied her 
now. 

“Tell me, Dian, what is it I shall do?” 

“A week from to-day, if all goes well, you and 
the others will be with your mother in, or rather 
near, Calais. Your sister, the governess, the Du 
Mondes and Prote are there now. I saw Champar 
this morning and he told me where to find them. I 
hope that a fishing schooner will take you all to 
England. I spoke to your mother through the door 


In Great-Aunt Hor tense*s House 311 

for a moment this morning. She has been told that 
her children are to join her in Calais, and she thinks 
that you are already on your way. Henri has given 
her that impression. He has given her, for a dis¬ 
guise, the clothes of his sister who was to have gone 
to a cousin in the country, and for whom he has pro¬ 
cured a passport. She is not able to leave, and your 
mother will go in her stead. Her passport is in 
order. When she leaves you at the garden gate she 
is to go at once to the Place de la Bastille and has 
orders what else to do. Little Mademoiselle, this 
is hard—she must not know that it is her own Marie 
Josephine who is saving her! Safety for you all lies 
in her not knowing this, for she would not leave the 
city if she thought that one of you were here!” 

Marie Josephine thought of all that Dian had 
said, a little later, as she sat on a secluded bench in 
the great entrance hall of Great-aunt Hortense’s 
house. All about her were emblems of the revo¬ 
lution. She would have laughed out loud at the 
thought of Great-aunt Hortense’s horror if she had 
not been too excited and tremulous to laugh at any¬ 
thing. A tri-color banner was draped over the en¬ 
trance to the grand salon. At the carved oak table 
in the center of the hall sat three men wearing red 
caps, and all down the dusky corridors other red 
caps bobbed up and down as citizens walked to and 
fro debating and wrangling. From an anteroom, a 
cold, gilded apartment, came a jangle of voices. A 
meeting of one of the sections was taking place there. 


312 


Red Caps and Lilies 

All through the city were clubs or sections, each com¬ 
posed of men with different ideas from the others, 
no two ever agreeing on anything except to advocate 
bloodshed and to show no mercy. 

Marie had put her tray with its jug of licorice 
water and its jangling cups on the floor beside her. 
Vivi had left it for her at the stand of a nut seller 
near the Marquise du Ganne’s house. All sorts of 
booths and stands had sprung up overnight in the 
once fashionable parts of Paris. 

Dian would be waiting for Madame Saint Frere, 
in her disguise as Henri’s sister, in the Place de la 
Bastille. Henri had already been gone some hours 
with his regiment. Marie Josephine was to seize 
her opportunity to slide through the shadowy halls, 
up the back stairs to the room at the end of the hall. 
Her heart beat so fast that it seemed as though 
some one must hear it. She saw that it was not 
going to be an easy thing to slip away, and she made 
up her mind that she must not, under any circum¬ 
stance, let any chance go by. Some men came up to 
her and demanded a drink. She stooped over for 
her tray and stood up. 

She did not feel as though it were herself at all 
who poured the sickish-looking, grey mixture into 
the tin cups and received in exchange coins which 
she put in the pocket of her torn skirt. She was 
careful not to speak any more than she could help, 
for fear that her voice would betray her. She could 


In Great-Aunt H or tense’s House 313 

look like Vivi, and instinct seemed to tell her how 
to be like her, but she was afraid of her voice. 

As she walked about among the crowd, through 
the old familiar halls, selling her wares, she remem¬ 
bered what Dian had said: “Have no fear. Fear is 
nothing and it cannot talk to you or keep you from 
doing what is right. It has no power!” She re¬ 
membered something else that he had said: “You 
are so changed. It will be easy, indeed, for your 
mother not to think of you at all, except as a part 
of her rescue. Shake your hair well over your face 
and do not look directly at her more than you 
can help. Remember she thinks that you are near 
Calais!” 

Dian had given her the two keys. She could feel 
them jingling together in her inner pocket. She 
wanted to put her tray down somewhere so that 
she could slip away more easily at the right moment. 
She waited until there was a lull in the demand for 
licorice water, then quietly slipped over to a corner 
and ducked her head from under the leather strap 
which held the tray about her neck. As she put the 
tray down on the floor and turned away some one 
called to her. It was Georges Fardou, the man who 
had let Vivi through the gates to “Pick a flower.” 
He looked like a big, shadowy giant as he stood 
there in the dark hall. 

“Come, give us a dance like the one at the West 
Barricade. The ‘£a Ira,’ or anything that’s full of 
go!” he called with a laugh. 


314 


Red Caps and Lilies 

The “fa Ira.” She had heard it sung in the streets 
that very morning as she had come through the rue 
Royale with Dian. She had seen it danced, too, a 
wild, strange weaving in and out of dreadful people. 
She had shut her eyes at Dian’s bidding and held 
tight to his hand, and he had talked to her in his 
quiet way of Pigeon Valley, as they walked through 
the city. 

“I’ll do another one to-day,” she heard herself 
saying, and it seemed as though she spoke harshly 
without trying, her mouth was so dry. 

She began to dance, holding her tattered skirts 
about her, swaying back and forth in the dim, close 
air. She had danced this way so many times before 
at Les Vignes, up and down the veranda and through 
the tall rows of white lilies along the south terrace. 
She tried to think of these happy times as she danced 
in and out of the arched doorways and about the big 
table in the center of the hall. Applause greeted 
her as she stopped, and also a harsh voice from the 
anteroom door. 

“Have the brat clear out, and keep some sort of 
quiet about here while the section’s in session,” said 
the voice from the doorway, and then its owner dis¬ 
appeared. 

For a moment her heart stood still, but after a 
laugh or two, the small crowd that had stood watch¬ 
ing her disappeared, Vivi’s friend among them. At 
the first moment that she felt that she was unob¬ 
served, she crept through the back of the entrance 


In Great-Aunt H or tense’s House 315 

hall into a corridor beyond it, paused, listened, then 
crept stealthily up the narrow winding stairs. 

She knew the room. One time when they had 
been staying with her great-aunt for several weeks, 
she had spent an afternoon there with Prote, dear 
Frote! 

She stood in the shadow close against the wall, 
looking down the corridor. All was quiet. She put 
the key in the lock and tried it. It gave easily and 
she stepped inside, then shrank back against the 
door, putting her hand over her mouth to smother 
the little cry of surprise that had almost escaped 
her. She had thought to find maman, and in her 
place there was a thin, wispy-haired woman in a 
snuff-colored cape and close-fitting drab bonnet, with 
a greasy face and half-shut eyes. It was maman! 
As she stood there by the door Marie Josephine re¬ 
membered something Great-aunt Hortense had said: 
“There never was any one like your mother, Marie, 
for play-acting. Ah, you children can’t believe it, 
but it’s true. The queen has begged her to join them 
at Versailles! She could do her beloved Moliere 
characters best of all.” 

“Come, you’re sure you were not watched, little 
girl?” maman was saying. 

Marie Josephine nodded. 

“Then come at once—the back stairs—you know 
the garden door? I’ve never been that way myself. 
Quick, child!” 

The voice was the same! 


316 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“You’d best talk like a woman of the people, citi- 
zeness, otherwise you are splendid in your disguise!” 
Marie Josephine clasped her hands together sud¬ 
denly, looking up for a second into maman’s eyes. 

“Yes, yes, I know. I will remember, but be quick, 
child.” Maman put her hand on the door, and 
Marie Josephine stepped back into the hall, keeping 
close to the wall. There was only silence, except 
for the voices from the halls below. 

Marie Josephine never forgot the breathless flight 
through the familiar back halls of the great house. 
In spite of the tense excitement she thought how 
funny it was that she knew the halls so well, and 
maman knew them not at all! Roaming about 
houses had always been one of Marie Josephine’s 
chief delights! 

She tried to remember what Dian had told her: 
“Do not let fear keep you from doing what is right. 
Fear has no power.” She said this over and over 
under her breath as they went out the side door into 
the garden, and found themselves facing the grey 
wall that surrounded it. There were voices near by. 
She fumbled with the lock. It was rusty, and the 
garden door was a little swollen from recent spring 
rains. It did not give. 

“Hurry, child!” Maman’s voice sounded in her 
ears. She stood quietly with the key in her hands 
for a moment, trying to still the agony of fear that 
seemed to beat about her. “Fear has no power,” 
Dian had said. She felt a sudden freedom. She 


In Great-Aunt H or tense’s House 317 

was doing right. She put the key in the lock again 
and turned it quickly. The door caught, moved a 
breath, then caught again. At last it gave! They 
were outside in a deserted long, grey street. Maman 
turned to her, and even in that moment of still great 
danger, put her arm around her. 

“You have done me good service, little one. I 
have children whom I shall see very soon. They 
are safe out of Paris, a son and two daughters. You 
—there is something about you a little like one of 
them. God bless you.” 

They had been given their directions. Maman 
was off, walking quickly in the direction of the Place 
de la Bastille, not daring to run. Marie Josephine 
watched her until she had almost disappeared. 

“There is something about you a little like one of 
them!” 

The words stayed with her as she ran on toward 
the rue Royale. When she reached the crowded 
streets she slackened her steps. She was to go at 
once to the Saint Frere house and to wait there with 
the others for Dian. 


Chapter XXIV 


THROUGH THE GATES 

Raoul woke up feeling very ill the morning of 
the day that Marie Josephine went to the house of 
Great-aunt Hortense and let her mother through the 
garden door. He had eaten heartily of pig’s feet 
and apricot preserve, presents to the seed shopman 
and his family from the market gardener’s wife. 

Late that same afternoon Dian visited him in his 
stuffy room at the top of the seed shop. He found 
him cross and unhappy. His head ached and he 
could not stop thinking about the pig’s feet and the 
apricot preserve, much as he tried to do so. He did 
not have a great many things besides food to think 
about, and felt at a loss. He cheered up on seeing 
his shepherd friend, and when Dian rose to take his 
leave, said he felt better. Dian went out and came 
back again with some grapes. He placed them in a 
cracked dish on a table near the oat-straw shake- 
down where Raoul was lying. 

“You will be glad of their refreshment in the 
morning, though you make a face at them now,” he 
said, smiling. Then he sat down again on a stool 
near the rough bed. 


318 


319 


Through the Gates 

“My master’s friend who knows of medicine saw 
me, and he says I’ll not be able to leave the city for 
some days; I have fever,” Raoul said, giving his 
hard pillow an impatient poke. Dian took the 
pillow and shook it up, and lifted Raoul so that he 
rested more comfortably. Then he sat quietly be¬ 
side him, thinking deeply. 

“Will your master drive out the cart himself, 
then?” he asked the boy. 

Raoul shook his head vigorously. 

“Not him! He’s deep in talking, talking all the 
time, going to section meetings, and quarreling with 
everybody. Tortot the baker won’t speak to him 
or to the seed shopman. He’s just about distracted 
since they broke down his shop and played such 
havoc with his goods. He hasn’t dared to open up 
the shop since because of the mob.” Raoul raised 
his head from the pillow and spoke confidentially to 
Dian. “He doesn’t say anything about the boy that 
disappeared from the shop that night. He knows 
he’d get himself into a good measure of trouble over 
hiding an aristocrat that way. They’d say in the 
convention he was trying to help him get away, in¬ 
stead of holding him until the right time to get rid 
of him. Oh, you can wager he’ll keep still enough 
about that. I don’t care what they do. I’m going 
to stay home when once I get there. I hate this old 
place and everybody here but you!” At this last 
remark Raoul became so upset that he threw the 
pillow to the other end of the room. He seemed to 


320 Red Caps and Lilies 

feel better after he had done so, for he grinned at 
Dian. 

The door opened just then and the market gar¬ 
dener came in, a prosperous-looking, red-faced man 
in grey breeches and dark-brown waistcoat decorated 
with the tri-colored rosette. 

“A fine boy, a fine boy. He would do well to eat 
only black bread and garlic for a time. He’s been 
living too high, that’s what’s the matter with himl” 
he exclaimed in his bluff way, standing over the cot 
and looking good-naturedly down at Raoul. 

Dian stood, and, leaning over, laid his hands on 
Raoul’s shoulder. 

“I will see you again before very long, perhaps at 
your home in the country that you love. Sometime 
I will show you my flock of sheep, and you will meet 
the little Jean of whom I have told you,” he said. 
Then he turned to the market gardener. “I know a 
boy who will drive your cart to-morrow, if you like. 
He lives in a cellar, and is in dire straits. He will 
be only too glad of earning even a few coins, for he 
has a journey before him, and a mother and sisters 
dependent upon him. I’d like to do him the good 
turn.” 

Now Dian was a prime favorite with the market 
gardener, who was constantly wrangling with the 
men he knew in the city, though he cared not a fig for 
any of them except the seed shopman. He admired 
Dian’s bulk and his free, fearless ways. “There’s 
a man for you,” he would say. “There’s a man of 


321 


Through the Gates 

France, with a broad back and broad ways. There’s 
a man!” He greeted Dian’s suggestion cordially. 

“Bring on your boy. I want one I can trust, and 
these Paris brats are as sly as their fathers. I, for 
one, will be glad to get away from the whole dirty, 
quarrelsome lot of them,” he said. There was an 
answering mutter of agreement from the bed. 

“He is a friend of the little Vivi, and a worthy 
lad. Where will I find the cart? I will myself see 
that the lad is started in good time and order,” 
said Dian. 

“It will stand, as always, at the end of the row by 
the West Barricade, and I will see that it is ready. 
You can tell him the road and the way, as you know 
the country about, but it would be well for me to 
have a word with him. You say he knows the road ? 
He’s not one of the city brats?” As the market 
gardener asked this last question, he took out his 
long pipe and lit it. Settling back on the stool that 
Dian had vacated, he drew a long puff from it, 
unconscious of the wry face that Raoul made as 
the tobacco smoke filled the room. 

“He knows all the country near you, for he comes 
from the road east of Calais, and has been back and 
forth in summer weather many times,” Dian an¬ 
swered. Then he opened the door and went out, 
saying over his shoulder as he did so: 

“The lad and I will be at the West Barricade 
to-morrow at sundown, or just before the gates close. 
You never go until then, I take it?” 


322 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“No, we hold on for the trade until dusk. I’ll be 
there by the cart. Raoul here will be his own man 
in a few days, and will, I hope, have learned his 
lesson about going slow with pigs’ feet,” answered 
Raoul’s master. 

“Give my regards to the funny fat man in the 
brown cloak,” called Raoul, and Dian could hear 
him laughing, weak as he was, as he went down the 
seed shop stairs. 

Dian knew that all had gone well with Marie 
Josephine, for he had stayed about the house and 
halls, and had known when she had gone up the back 
stairs, though no one else had seen the little grey 
figure slip away. He had gone out and waited, 
fighting the fear that almost choked him as the 
minutes seemed to fly by, and the door in the garden 
wall did not open. Then he had seen them come 
out and go their different ways, as they had been 
told to do, and so, instead of going in again to the 
house, to give his life if need be for them, he had 
gone on to the seed shop and there, as always, he 
had found a way. 

He felt a sense of relief in the knowledge that 
Henri had gone with his regiment that morning, for 
though he was grateful that the man had waked up 
to his real self, putting his cowardice aside and doing 
a last act of helpfulness in aiding the comtesse to 
escape, still the knowledge of the hidden cellar was 
not for him. Dian, when he reached the Saint Frere 
house, walked up and down the upper cellar for 


323 


Through the Gates 

some time, his hands clasped before him, his face 
lifted to the dark, dusty rafters. He felt that the 
old comte was very near to him, not a wraith of his 
person, but the loving earnestness of his spirit. He 
was doing the best he knew how, this shepherd, in 
his own simple way. To him it meant only trusting 
in the power of good to stand by them. 

As soon as he had opened the slide he heard 
Marie Josephine’s voice calling softly to him. The 
lanthorn had made a scraping noise against the stone 
wall as he lifted it. Faint as it was, she had heard 
it, for she had been sitting on the lowest rung of the 
stairs, listening for him, ever since she had returned, 
breathless and half bewildered, from the house of 
Great-aunt Hortense. 

She stood before him with clasped hands as he 
emerged from the gloom of the stairs. 

“Maman is safe? Tell me, Dian!” She caught 
his sleeve and held on to it as they walked toward 
the others. Rosanne was sleeping in the alcove near 
the chest. Lisle was walking up and down in the 
room beyond, Humphrey Trail beside him, both 
talking earnestly. Jean, who was now very much 
awake, ran up to Dian and took hold of the other 
side of his coat. 

“She is out of Paris. She reached the Place de la 
Bastille and went off in the coach as Henri’s sister. 
The passport was in order. I watched her go 
through the gates in a public coach. I saw you open 
the garden gate. You did not come in vain to Paris, 


324 


Red Caps and Lilies 

Little Mademoiselle!” the shepherd answered her, 
and his words of praise, as well as the welcome news 
of her mother’s safety, brought sudden tears to her 
eyes. 

“I do not feel little any more, Dian. I have 
grown up these last days,” she said, turning to meet 
Rosanne, who had wakened, and who, with the 
others, came crowding up to them. Lisle and Marie 
Josephine held each other’s hands, and Marie Jose¬ 
phine hid her face in his sleeve. Their mother was 
safe out of Paris. Dian had seen her drive out of 
the gates in a coach. Very simply Marie Josephine 
told them what she had done as they all stood about 
her, tense and eager. 

“You danced for those men there in the hall— 
you! They thought you were Vivi!” Lisle could 
not believe it. His sister, Marie Josephine! 

He stood very still while she told them of going 
up to her mother, slipping through the dusk when 
no one saw her, and finding a strange woman of the 
people who was maman and yet was not! “Maman 
was so wonderful. I told her that she must try to 
speak like the people. I said, ‘Citizeness, you will 
do well to remember that you must have the speech 
of the people at the gates.’ The key would not 
turn in the lock at first—I mean in the garden door 
lock—but it did at last and we got safely outside. 
Maman did not know me, of course. Maman thinks 
that we are waiting for her near Calais, but just as 
she said good-by she—she—said, ‘There is some- 


325 


Through the Gates 

thing about you a little like—like one of them ch— 

children-’ ” Marie Josephine drew this last out 

in a long sob, putting her face down in the hollow 
of her arm. 

How they comforted her, one and all. Hum¬ 
phrey told stories of his Yorkshire farm, until he 
had to clear his throat again and again, and they 
begged him to go on even when he said he simply 
could not say another word. He held Jean on his 
knee and sang a funny Yorkshire song to him. The 
time flew by with happy talk as they roasted apples 
over the little fire, no one objecting in the least to 
the smoke. 

Dian sat back in a far corner, his hands clasped 
on his knee, his eyes closed. The hidden cellar had 
performed its task, had justified itself. It had saved 
the lives of two of the Saint Freres, and of their 
friends. It had proved itself to be a stronghold, a 
refuge, even a home. It had opened its dark arms 
to receive the last Lisle Saint Frere, protecting him 
from those who would have had his head on the 
guillotine block. It had opened those same arms 
for the little girl who knew and loved it, and who 
had been the one of her generation chosen to know 
of it. To-morrow was in God’s hands. Dian was 
not afraid. He was glad for many things. He was 
glad to hear children’s laughter, glad that the com- 
tesse was through the gates and that Marie Jose¬ 
phine had been the one to aid her, glad of the friend¬ 
ship of honest Humphrey Trail, and that there 



326 Red Caps and Lilies 

would be a safe refuge for them all with Humphrey 
in England. 

He stood up, his great height bringing him almost 
to a level with the rough stone ceiling, and, coming 
over to them, answered their welcoming call of 
“Dian, come and stay with us,” with a smile that 
had in it something of sadness. Then he went over 
to the chest and, standing by it, beckoned them to 
come to him. They came, all of them, and looked 
at him in wonder as he stood there lost in thought. 

Suddenly he turned toward Lisle, who stood be¬ 
side him, and he touched him lightly on the shoulder. 
It was as though he was knighting him for some¬ 
thing. 

“You are the last of these Saint Freres who have 
been such a brave race of men. You have the name 
of the first one of them of whom there is record, 
and of whom there is much to remember. He 
helped to build this hidden place with his own hands. 
He said that one member of the family in each 
generation should know of this cellar and, knowing, 
should bear in mind always that it was built with a 
prayer, and that the prayer was to remember one’s 
brother, to turn away from tyranny and the lust of 
power. That was what the first Lisle Saint Frere 
wanted of those of his own blood who were to come 
after him.” Dian looked at Lisle as he spoke. 
“Your grandfather was the one who came nearest 
to the first Lisle’s wish. Of that I am sure,” he 
said simply. 


327 


Through the Gates 

Then Lisle did a strange thing, so unlike him 
that those about him could not believe their eyes. 
He clasped his hands as though in prayer and stood 
silent for a moment, and it was as though he neither 
saw nor was aware of those about him. 

“Help me to be like the first Lisle,” he prayed. 

“Dian—see Dian’s face!” whispered Rosanne to 
Marie Josephine, and they both turned and looked 
up at the shepherd. There was a light on his face, 
and in his eyes a depth of happiness. 

Dian took a key from his inner pocket, and stoop¬ 
ing over, unlocked the chest. Then he turned and 
looked again at Lisle. 

“I believe that you will be like the first Lisle and 
that you will have knowledge beyond his to work 
out a way of helping the people, and all those that 
need you,” he said. Then he leaned over, and, 
reaching down into the depths of the chest, drew 
out a tray. It was made of iron and it exactly fitted 
the chest. On it were bags, some of goatskin, some 
of raw hides, several of velvet, and one of leather. 

He touched them softly with his hands, tenderly, 
broodingly, the way a miser might have touched his 
wealth, after the visit of an angel who had awakened 
him to the glories of giving, instead of keeping. 

“There is gold here, old money, some of which 
is valueless but for the spirit in which it was given. 
The one of each generation who has known of the 
secret cellar has put something here, has given of 
his store,” he said. 


328 


Red Caps and Lilies 

“I haven’t anything to give,” said Marie Jose¬ 
phine, a quiver in her voice. 

“You offered your life, but the sacrifice was not 
needed,” the shepherd answered her. 

“I am the last Lisle now and I have nothing to 
give,” Lisle said in the humble way which was new 
to him. 

“You would have given your life a hundred times 
over, had there been a way. You have given a 
prayer that is better than all this,” Dian answered 
him. 

“Whom does it belong to?” asked Jean, who was 
delighted with the rows of little bags inside the odd 
old chest. 

Dian put his hand again on Lisle’s shoulder. 

“It belongs to this Lisle,” he said. Then he 
reached down and picked up a dark-stained piece of 
paper. There were letters on the paper, burnt into 
the parchment with the sharp end of a stick. They 
were so curiously worded that Lisle had to study 
them, when Dian handed him the paper, before he 
could make them out. They were in French, but 
of the old language. After a moment of silence 
Lisle read very slowly: 

“In the hour of need thou shall of this treasure 
give to the creatures who have the sorest want. 
Keep to thine own that for thy bread. Give of the 
rest, not to thyself, but to thy brother!” 

There was silence there in the depths of the earth 
after Lisle had read from the parchment. It seemed 


329 


Through the Gates 

to stay with them all the evening. It seemed almost 
as though it spoke to them. “Give of the rest, not 
to thyself, but to thy brother.” 

Long ago Dian had gone over the bags with the 
old comte. He and Lisle now put away, in the 
bottom of the chest, the quaint old coins in their 
faded bags, handling them tenderly as though they 
loved them. They decided to take two bags of the 
more modern money with them. 

“Remember that I leave you at the boat, and that 
you must find out, with Humphrey’s aid, whether 
the English government can change this for you. It 
may be worthless now, except for its value in gold,” 
Dian said to Lisle. 

They locked the chest and laid the two bags of 
money on the shelf next to the horn drinking cups. 
It was late and Jean was beginning to yawn. 

Humphrey went about through the narrow alcove¬ 
like rooms beyond, putting a rug here and a pillow 
there, intent on everyone’s comfort and glad indeed 
to have something to do, for he was sorely troubled. 
It was all very well to spend one’s time over an old 
chest, and he had been as interested as the others; 
but to-morrow they were to make a run for their 
lives! He knew that Dian had some plan, and that 
there had been no chance to tell him. He was re¬ 
lieved beyond words when the shepherd called them 
all together. 

Years afterward Humphrey used to recall that 
night to himself as he sat in a corner of his own fire- 


330 


Red Caps and Lilies 

side, his pipe between his lips. Neighbors happen¬ 
ing in would have to speak to him several times 
before he would be aware of their presence. “Ah— 
yes—welcome in. I was thinking back a long way, 
a long way,” he would say. Dian in their midst 
telling them about “to-morrow!” 

It was very simple. Dian and Humphrey had 
passports, being citizens, one of France, the other 
one of England. There had been no trouble about 
them. Dian’s parents, who were not living, were 
known to have been good, honest citizens in their 
day, who had been oppressed by the aristocrats. He 
himself was a shepherd. Humphrey was a farmer 
who had been in France on a holiday. They would 
pass out at the gates after the children had gone 
through. 

And how was that to be done? The little Vivi 
again. Georges Fardou, her friend, was on guard 
at sundown. That Dian knew well. He was always 
there when the carts went out. A boy, a friend of 
Vivi’s, would drive a vegetable cart, the market 
gardener would be there himself to see that all was 
in order. He would explain to the gatemen that 
the lad was taking Raoul’s place and was quite to be 
trusted. The lad would be Lisle! 

The children, Rosanne and Jean and Marie Jose¬ 
phine, were to run about with Vivi. She was Georges 
Fardou’s friend and he never resisted her appeals. 
He would let them run through and play on the 
other side for a while. They would be met by 


331 


Through the Gates 

Champar, who had fleet horses ready. They must 
not fear. That was as definite a plan as they could 
agree upon. 

All knew that there was a great risk, but there 
was little fear in the hearts of any of them that night 
in the cellar. They sat about on one of the big rugs 
and ate their late supper of bread and cheese and 
chocolate. Then they went to their various cosy 
beds of shawls and rugs, and slept soundly until 
morning. 

It was while Humphrey was frying the bacon for 
breakfast, assisted by Marie Josephine, who stood 
by the frying pan and turned the slices with a one¬ 
pronged fork when they began to brown nicely, that 
Lisle spoke with Dian. 

“I am glad that I shall not be with the others 
going through the gates, for some one might recog¬ 
nize me and suspect them all. I am so much taller 
than the others, too big to be a playmate for Vivi. 
Tell me, Dian, what will become of her. I do not 
like to leave her unbefriended. There must be some¬ 
thing we can do for her.” 

Dian was glad to hear Lisle say this, and his face 
bore a very earnest look as he answered: “You are 
right to ask for her, and I have told Mademoiselle 
de Soigne and the Little Mademoiselle that she is 
safe. I will tell you more than this. I could not go 
away from Paris leaving Vivi alone and unprotected, 
to starve. She has been our friend, loyal always. I 
shall take care of her in the country where she will 


332 


Red Caps and Lilies 

be happy as the sunshine. I hope that Mother Bar¬ 
bette will open her heart to her, finding in her the 
little girl she has always wanted for her own. It 
was easy to procure a passport for Vivi, and she 
leaves the gates to-morrow at twelve-” 

“But you said—I don’t understand-How can 

Marie Josephine be taken for her if she has already 
gone?” Lisle looked up, deeply puzzled. 

“Do you not see? Her friend, Georges Fardou, 
will not be there at noon. He comes on duty always 
at five. He will know nothing of Vivi’s having left 
and will play the game of letting her through the 
gates as usual. What we must hope—aye, and 
pray—is that he will let her little comrades through 
also!” 

Lisle smiled. “You are you, Dian. Next you 
will tell me that the others at Pigeon Valley are 
safe!” 

“That I can tell you now. Listen well. They are 
safe enough in a deserted barn near Calais. Cham- 
par, the cross-eyed coach driver, took them there. 
I was saving this to tell you at the last before we 
leave, in order to give you all, especially Mademoi¬ 
selle de Soigne, good courage.” 

“Cecile du Monde in a deserted barn!” Lisle 
threw back his head in the old way. Then he 
laughed. “We are all a set of vagabonds. Eh 
bien! so much the better. Rosanne,” he called to 
her over his shoulder, “we are tramps, all of us. 
Dian has more news. Cecile and Bertran and that 




Through the Gates 333 

funny Prote and Madame le Pont and Hortense are 
safe, hiding in a barn-” 

“I know,” she interrupted. “Marie Josephine 
told me last night before we went to sleep. She 
said we must be quiet about it and not talk too much, 
because there was so much to plan. She told me 
that I must not speak at all by the gates or after¬ 
ward, for fear I would give myself away, but I’ve 
remembered ever so many things that Vivi used to 
say, and when I’m dressed in tatters I think I can 
talk like her.” Rosanne smiled cheerfully as she 
spoke, but her smile faded a little, later in the day, 
when all her long, soft, golden hair was sheared 
and fell in a glittering heap on the chest. She did 
not cry, but there was a quiver about her mouth. 
Dian picked the hair up and wrapped it in a piece 
of satin that had covered one of the pillows they 
had brought down. 

“It will not be safe to take it with us; but remem¬ 
ber, Mademoiselle, nothing can happen to the hidden 
cellar. Some day we will come here to the chest and 
find it and give it to your mother in memory of the 
old days in France, which will be dear to her,” he 
said, laying the bright bundle in a corner of the 
chest. 

They all laughed at each other, for they were the 
sorriest sights imaginable. Vivi lived in one of the 
worst alleys in Paris, and her friends were the most 
unkempt of all the children who played about the 
gates. Rosanne’s hair they discolored with a dark 



334 


Red Caps and Lilies 

fluid, and they rubbed dye into her delicate face and 
arms and hands. She wore a tattered dress, which 
had a berry stain down the front, and no stockings 
under her broken shoes. They had not dared to let 
her go barefooted because of her feet betraying her. 
Marie Josephine was Vivi, in the torn dirty dress 
that had stood the journey from Pigeon Valley, her 
uncombed hair flapping about her face and eyes. 
She was tanned like a veritable gypsy, and there was 
no need of any more disguise for her. She was the 
street gamin to perfection, and she had the gift of 
knowing how to play a part. She had confidence, 
too. The experience at the house of Great-aunt 
Hortense had given it to her. She was full of fire 
and courage and the love of adventure. She was 
ready! 

“The last of the Saint Freres! Oh, you funny 
boy!” She danced about her brother mockingly. 
“What an honest country lad you look, to be sure, 
does he not, Humphrey Trail?” she cried laughingly. 

“He does look out of his usual way, but tha knows 
he is the same. I’m fashed to see how any one else 
could tell him to be the proud lad he is,” Humphrey 
answered slowly, surveying Lisle soberly. 

Lisle gave him a quick smile. “Humphrey Trail, 
the only friend I had in Paris the day the Tuileries 
was sacked,” he said, and a look of friendship passed 
between the two. 

Dian regarded Lisle gravely and then nodded. 
Yes, he would do. His hair was cut short and dyed 


Through the Gates 335 

also, and he wore a homespun suit and rough, awk¬ 
ward shoes. His coarse shirt was open at his throat, 
which showed brown enough from the dye, and his 
eyebrows were ruffed up and there was a splash of 
cherry juice across one of them. He was to be eat¬ 
ing cherries as he drove through with the cart. He 
stood before them, a far different figure from the 
Lisle Saint Frere who had danced the minuet at the 
De Soigne ball. 

‘‘Well, it’s time to start. We are ready, all of 
us.” Dian spoke in his usual simple, direct way and 
they followed him without a word. Marie Jose¬ 
phine was the last to climb the ladder stairs. She 
looked back at the quiet, tender gloom of the old 
place. “Good-by,” she whispered. “Sometime we 
are coming back, all of us!” 

They each knew what to do and there was no 
need for discussion. Dian and Humphrey, accom¬ 
panied by Lisle, went on ahead, and the two little 
girls with Jean followed at a distance but kept near 
enough so as not to lose sight of them. In any case 
they were to find their way to the West Barricade. 

It was dusk when they reached the gates, and the 
first pink glow of a spring sunset showed above the 
tall, gaunt forge that was busy near by making guns 
for the army of the revolution. 

The market gardener stood by the empty cart 
and hailed Dian and Humphrey cheerfully. Then 
he looked Lisle over from head to foot. Lisle was 
eating cherries unconcernedly and only gave a sheep- 


336 Red Caps and Lilies 

ish side nod to the market gardener as he looked 
him over. 

“He seems fond of cherries, that lad of yours,” 
he said to Dian. “Bien! I must go to a meeting. 
See that you hurry on. As it is you’ll not be at my 
farm before night. The shepherd here says you 
know the way. Here’s your pay. Good-day, citi¬ 
zens,”—and the stout, fussy man hurried away to 
wrangle at a meeting until well into the morning. 

Lisle jumped on to the cart and took the reins. 

“Remember, Champar is to be waiting a few rods 
from the gates. Leave the horse and cart under a 
tree by the first turn. Champar will see that they 
reach the market gardener’s. He has told his cousin 
to fetch them there. Drive as quickly as you can. 
Don’t talk with the soldier at the gates unless you 
are forced to.” Dian spoke quickly in a low tone. 
Lisle nodded, took the reins, and drove toward the 
Barricade. A soldier stopped him, but he had been 
told that another lad would drive through with the 
cart and he knew the cart well. It had red wheels, 
and he and Raoul had often joked about it. 

“You’ll be where your friend is if you eat many 
of those this time of year, young citizen,” the man 
said. 

Lisle made a face, but said nothing, holding out 
some cherries to the man, who accepted two or 
three. It was Vivi’s friend, Georges Fardou, who 
came on duty at half past five. 


Through the Gates 337 

He waved his hand. “Go on with you,” he said, 
and Lisle drove through. 

“So, citizens, you are leaving the gay city— 
what?” Georges Fardou examined the passports of 
Humphrey and Dian critically, holding his lanthorn 
close up to them, for it was dark under the frowning 
shadow of the walls. He had had many a friendly 
chat with both of them at odd times, there at the 
gates, and had often sat next to Dian at meetings 
of the sections. 

“Yes, and the children would come just a pace 
with us. It’s a good hour before the gates close, 
and they’ve followed us about all day,” Dian said 
simply, nodding toward a group of three laughing 
children, a boy and two girls, who were throwing 
mud at each other, and every now and then at 
passers-by. 

“Vivi and I are good comrades, I was with the 
poor father when he died,” Humphrey said, not as 
though he were pleading for her to go through, but 
just stating a fact in his quiet way. 

Georges nodded. “That was a bad thing. I’d 
like to see all of the aristos get the hit he got, poor 
devil. Well, many a one is getting hit at the back 
of the neck, good luck to the guillotine!” He 
glanced at the children who had come up to them. 
“It’s too late for you brats to go through the gates, 
and it’s against orders,” he said. 

Then out of her eagerness and her love for those 
dear to her who were in peril, Marie Josephine 


338 


Red Caps and Lilies 

spoke, and her very earnestness gave her courage. 
It was so dark there in the shadow of the wall that 
only her eager eyes seemed to show in her dark face 
as she looked up at the guard. 

“I may not see the shepherd again. He has been 
kinder to me than any one since my father died, 
him and Humphrey, the funny farmer man,” Marie 
Josephine spoke in a hoarse, almost harsh voice. 

Georges Fardou shook his head. “It’s too late,” 
he said again. 

“Please—Georges Fardou.” There was a world 
of pleading in her voice, and a tear was zigzagging 
down her cheek as she looked up pleadingly at 
Georges Fardou. 

“Bien! Out with the lot of you, but mind you’re 
not late coming back. It will be closing time within 
the hour.” He unlocked the gates again as he had 
done for Lisle and the cart. “Good-by, citizens, 
and a good journey,” he called to Dian and Hum¬ 
phrey as they went through. “When you come back 
you’ll find Antoinette has gone the way of Louis. 
Long live the Republic!” 

Then he closed the gates after them. 


Chapter XXV 


OUT OF THE MIST 

Grigge gave the note to Anastasius Grubb and 
watched him as he read it. He was not thinking so 
much about the note, or what Anastasius would do, 
as he was about the man himself, for he was the 
oddest man that he had ever seen; his beard was so 
rich and full and brown, his voice so deep, so like a 
bellows, and his eyebrows so thick and frowning. 
After he had read the note he looked Grigge over 
as though he thought he was rather curious also. 
Then he destroyed the note. It was the one that 
Humphrey had written, and that Dian had sent, with 
his own, to Grigge, first by Roaul and then by Cham- 
par. Champar had gone back to Paris. Grigge was 
watching for him every day now, and he knew that 
the little party of fugitives in the forsaken barn near 
the city were watching, too. 

Anastasius knew some French, having picked it 
up while carrying on his trade back and forth, and 
he used it now on Grigge. 

“I’ll be waiting every night with a rowboat by 
the willow woods three miles south of the light¬ 
house station. I’ll keep hidden, and I’ll see that 
339 


340 


Red Caps and Lilies 

the schooner doesn’t bring suspicion on itself. Tell 
them I’ll be waiting. I’d do that and more for 
Humphrey Trail. We’ve played together as lads 
and, please Heaven, we’ll continue friends this many 
a year to come.” Anastasius relapsed into English 
at the last, but Grigge understood about the willow 
woods and the boat. He thought of Dian and 
that he would soon be seeing him and he smiled. 
That made him look so different that the skipper 
exclaimed: 

“Th’art na so ugly when tha smiles; that th’art 
not!” 

Then Grigge left him and went back through long 
circuitous ways through the country roads to the 
barn. He walked slowly and with the satisfied air 
of one who has at last accomplished something of 
moment. He had waited patiently day after day 
near the docks at Calais for a glimpse of the skipper 
of the Sandlass. Champar had been gone over a 
week and still there was no sign of this Anastasius 
Grubb, who alone, of all the owners of fishing crafts 
in and around the harbor, could take safely to Eng¬ 
land the little band of people who were at his mercy 
in Champar’s uncle’s barn, near the coast. 

Grigge shuffled along in the dust that reminded 
him of the highway in Pigeon Valley. He thought 
of the croak of the frogs at night in the brook that 
ran along the back of the meadow behind the huts. 
He thought of the black bread that he had always 
eaten, and of the low-ceilinged, one-roomed hut that 


341 


Out of the Mist 

was his home. He had never meant anything to 
these people who awaited him in the lonely barn. 
Not one of them at Les Vignes, except the Little 
Mademoiselle, had ever given him more than a pass¬ 
ing nod. All that he had done for them was because 
of Dian, but he had expected to taunt them with it, 
to humiliate them as they had so often, perhaps un¬ 
thinkingly, humiliated him. He had thought that 
it would be fun to tease them, to tell them that the 
plan had fallen through and that there would be no 
possibility of the others reaching them; but he had 
not done any of these things, and as he walked along 
the quiet road that lovely May night, he felt closer 
to the sheltering greenness and the peaceful, drifting 
wind than he had ever felt before. 

When he came within the region of the barn he 
dropped to his knees and crawled slowly through 
the dark underbrush. It would never do for a late 
passer-by on the road to Calais to see him going 
to the barn, which was so unusually isolated, half 
hidden by brush and trees. It was a remarkable 
hiding place. 

Cecile met him, having slid back the door when 
she heard his faint rap. The main part of the barn 
was lighted by three lanthorns which hung from the 
ceiling, but the light was dim, and there was a thick 
blanket hung across the one window, so that no 
glimmer could reach the fields beyond. 

“I delivered the letter. He’s to wait every night 
by the willow woods. He says this Humphrey 


342 Red Caps and Lilies 

Trail’s his best friend. He’s safe. He won’t desert 
you.” There was a kinder tone in Grigge’s voice, 
for something in the eager way they listened to him 
touched him. 

Madame le Pont said, “Thank God.” 

Cecile shut her eyes for a moment and then she 
said: 

“They will come. I know they are safe. We had 
word that they were going to try to get through. 
That blessed cross-eyed Champar sent the message 
to us.” Cecile turned and put her arms about Denise 
who had come close to her. “We’ll see them, cherie, 
soon,” she whispered. Denise could only sob on 
Cecile’s shoulder. She at last was learning what it 
was to be in a revolution. 

Hortense touched Grigge’s arm. “There is some 
supper here for you, an omelette that I’m cooking. 
It’s made with two of the eggs you brought us yes¬ 
terday. Prote has taught me to cook it, and I want 
you to say it’s good!” She spoke in a friendly way, 
and nothing could have showed plainer than her 
manner how they were all learning to know one an¬ 
other and to help. It was necessary that they keep 
occupied, and Hortense and Prote had many a laugh 
over the former’s attempt at cooking. Bertran was 
the greatest problem, for he was determined to go 
out, and they trembled that he would in some way, 
in spite of his disguise, make trouble by causing sus¬ 
picion. The days had gone by and they had not 
seen a living soul but themselves. Grigge had gone 


343 


Out of the Mist 

away every morning and stayed away all day, search¬ 
ing for Anastasius Grubb, whom at last he had 
found, and who had promised them his aid when 
the dear ones from Paris should come. 

And the wayfarers—they who had come through 
the gates of Paris, through danger so great that it 
had seemed a simple thing to take one’s chance 
at once and without question when it came one’s 
way—where were they? They were thundering 
through the countryside, sometimes on the main 
highroad, but mostly through back lanes and un¬ 
traveled pasture roads. The cart bumped about so 
much that their very heads whirled and they had to 
hold on just as hard as they could. They became 
so exhausted that they fell asleep in spite of them¬ 
selves and their excitement. They ate what was 
given them by Champar and Dian, swallowing their 
food with dry lips and throats. Always there was 
the dread of meeting advancing outposts of the 
army. Once they had to hide, coach and all, for a 
day and part of a night in a copse in the woods. 

One morning Champar turned to them, his eye 
cocked severely. 

“If no one asks me once to-day if we’ll see the 
others surely, and if they really are safe in the barn, 
and if I am sure that Grigge was able to find Anas¬ 
tasius Grubb, I’ll tell you all something!” 

They were all growing used to Champar, and 
Marie Josephine and Rosanne answered at once, 
“Tell us, Champar, hurry, tell us!” Lisle and Dian 


344 


Red Caps and Lilies 

were walking beside the cart, and they came close 
to the side of it when Champar spoke, but he calmly 
urged his horse on and seemed suddenly lost in 
thought. 

“What is it, Champar? Tell us!” Lisle put his 
hand on the side of the coach and looked up at 
the driver. Lisle was pale and tired and covered 
with dust. He had driven all night, so that Dian 
and Champar, who had had the brunt of the jour¬ 
ney, could rest. “Shall we see our mother? Tell 
us, Champar.” Lisle’s lips quivered ever so slightly 
as he spoke. “Tell us,” he repeated, and there was 
the old imperious ring in his voice as he spoke. 

So Champar told them. At noon they would 
meet the cart that had taken their mother out of 
Paris. It would be waiting for them at a farmhouse 
he knew well. It had had a day’s start and was 
lightly loaded and there had been no reason for 
making detours as their mother’s passport was en 
regie and no one would suspect Henri Berier’s sister 
of being an aristocrat! They would see their mother 
by noon that day! 

Marie Josephine and Rosanne jumped out at the 
next hill and walked up it together. Toward the 
top they were joined by Lisle. Marie Josephine 
picked a bunch of wild lilies, putting them in the but¬ 
tonhole of her jacket. Jean was on the box talking 
to Champar as on that night that Champar had 
given the two runaways a lift. Now and then the 


Out of the Mist 345 

driver put his hands over his ears as Jean plied him 
with questions. 

“It’s been so wonderful! Sometimes it seems like 
a terrible, interesting dream—but we won’t see Dian 
after we go to England.” Marie Josephine turned 
her face away from the others toward a sweep of 
golden wild lilies which gleamed like flakes of racing 
sunshine through the wood on their right. She did 
not want them to see her tears. They fell unseen on 
the lilies she had gathered. 

“Maman! Maman! Maman!” The next mo¬ 
ment she was screaming in an agony of joy, all her 
acting forgotten, all her poise and self-control lost. 
The coach had stopped by a lane which led from a 
farmhouse, and there stood a dark-eyed, slovenly 
woman in a faded homespun dress—her maman! 

Lisle and Marie Josephine sat on each side of the 
comtesse inside the coach, Jean and Dian sat on 
the wide seat in front with Champar, who was so 
ashamed of the tear that splashed over his big nose 
that he swore under his breath and was cross to the 
horses. Maman could only hold Marie Josephine 
in her arms; nothing seemed to matter except that 
and the touch of Lisle’s hand on hers. 

“My little dear one, my pigeon, my cherie,” she 
murmured over and over to Marie Josephine, hold¬ 
ing her close to her fast-beating heart. “Darling, 
you came! It was you, my own little baby. I said 
there was something—do you remember, cherie, 
how I told you, there by the garden door, that there 


346 


Red Caps and Lilies 

was something about you that reminded me of— 

of-?” Maman’s head went down over Marie 

Josephine’s shock of tangled locks, and she sobbed 
for a moment. Then she became more like her 
quiet, self-contained self. 

It all seemed a dream, the sweet afternoon air, 
the haze of heat, the scent of the field lilies and early 
poppies. It was all a dream to Marie Josephine, 
for she was very tired, but she felt her mother’s 
arms about her and heard her mother’s endearing 
words, which sounded sweeter than any she had ever 
heard before. They had always been there, locked 
deep in the comtesse’s heart, but she had never 
known how much she wanted to say them until it 
was, as she had thought, too late. 

They told her of Denise and the others, but they 
were too tired, all of them, to do more than that. 
There would be many a long winter evening in Eng¬ 
land when they could tell each other’s adventures. 
Now they must keep their thoughts on the barn, on 
the others, and on the blessed fishing schooner which 
would mean life for them. 

Dian sat with his eyes closed, unmindful of Jean’s 
chatter with Champar. Vivi was safe. She had 
gone through with her own passport the morning 
before, fortunately unknown to her friend who had 
night duty at the gate, and who had so unsuspectedly 
let the other Vivi and her friends through the gates. 
He would see that the others were safe, and then he 
would take Vivi and Jean back to his own Pigeon 



347 


Out of the Mist 

Valley, to the comfort and welcoming blessing of 
Mother Barbette and the quiet protection of the 
little low-roofed house in the wood of the Les 
Vignes demesne. He felt sure that the little house 
was there, safe among its ferns and flowers, what¬ 
ever may have happened to the big one. Grigge! 
He had great hopes and plans for Grigge! 

He walked up the next hill with Lisle. 

“You and Humphrey for friends! Maman safe! 
Dian, what have any of us done to deserve it? Dian, 
it isn’t for always; France is my home. Dian, I’m 
not forgetting that I am the last one of the Saint 
Freres. Whatever happens, you’ll take some of 
the gold for—no, you’ll never want it, but for 
Grigge. Tell me, Dian, is that a way of helping 
a little?” Lisle looked up almost entreatingly into 
the shepherd’s face. 

“That is one way. Making Grigge your friend 
is a better one,” Dian answered him. 

“Grigge my friend? Yes, I see that that can be,” 
Lisle answered. 

They had reached a lane and Champar stopped 
his horses. 

“It was out here, wasn’t it, my young citizeness, 
that you shoved your dog off on some farm chil¬ 
dren? What’s that!” 

Something was dashing toward them down the 
fern-scented lane, something long and slender and 
grey. It was Flambeau! 

They drove on, encumbered by a dog who leaped 


348 


Red Caps and Lilies 

from one to the other of them in wild delight, bark¬ 
ing so sharply that Champar swore out loud, de¬ 
claring he was tired of the whole lot of them, at the 
same time winking back a tear and urging the horses 
on furiously. 

“We should not take Flambeau, but, yes, we must, 
for he is a part of us,” exclaimed the comtesse as 
the dog’s warm tongue licked her face. He saw 
through the disguise of each one of them, as though 
his very love for them would not let him be deceived. 

“I would never, never have left you, Flambeau, 
angel, if I hadn’t been a tramp girl, dearie. You 
are so—so-” Marie Josephine murmured. 

“Such an aristo,” said Rosanne with a little choke, 
and just then Madame Saint Frere drew her close 
to her other side, and, putting an arm around each 
girl, she said: “Rosanne will see her mother one 
day. When last we heard from her she was safe 
in the hospital with your father. She begged us to 
see you safely out of the country and wrote that she 
and your father would join us when they could.” 

“Dian will care for them both, and will see that 
they come to us,” answered Marie Josephine, and 
her mother looked at the shepherd, who sat beside 
Champar, with a world of confidence and gratitude 
in her eyes. 

The lights of Calais glowed faintly through a sea 
mist. Champar drove very slowly. He knew the 
way, but the mist was thick and seemed to frighten 
the horses. They were near the gates that led to 



Out of the Mist 349 

his uncle’s barn. It was almost time for them to 
alight and to walk through the field. A voice 
reached them suddenly, a breathless, hoarse voice 
which seemed to come out of the very heart of the 
grey night. 

“Champar, quick! Listen! There isn’t a mo¬ 
ment to lose. We’re discovered, suspected! It was 
that fool of a Bertran. He met a citizen who dis¬ 
covered he was disguised. He was followed. Then 
the man ran toward the town. They’ve all left 
the barn and gone to the willow wood. Grubb’s 
anchored near the shore there. Hurry! The mist 
will hide the cart. That’s it, jump. I’ll catch you, 
Little Mademoiselle. This way. Don’t let the dog 
bark. Yes, this way, this way-” 

They were off through the mist, Grigge leading. 
The ground was soggy, and once Rosanne fell, but 
Dian caught her up and carried her. They did not 
speak at all, and through the silence Dian thought 
he heard the sound of horses’ hoofs on the high¬ 
road. 

They were making slow progress. Once Flam¬ 
beau barked. 

“Take care, maman, see, this way. I’ll guide 
you.” Lisle took his mother’s arm, as he whispered 
this. He held fast to Marie Josephine’s arm with 
his other hand, and every time she tried to get away 
from him, he whispered authoritatively, “You are 
to stay right here beside me!” His desire to pro¬ 
tect his family was so great that it made him fierce. 



350 


Red Caps and Lilies 

When Marie Josephine fell against a boulder, he 
caught her up and carried her toward a faint, flicker¬ 
ing white spot, which was the light at the bow of 
Anastasius Grubb’s rowboat. 

Grubb’s deep voice boomed softly through the 
still air. 

“They’re coming. One of my men from the 
schooner has been on the ground, listening. It means 
hurry. He’s heard horses’ hoofs. Here you, boy, 
I’ll take the little girl. Humphrey, you— Good! 
That’s it. You help the woman, and you, shepherd, 
take the boy Grigge and get away as quick as you 
can, or your lives will not be worth a ha’penny.” 

The water splashed about them as they waded to 
the rowboat, which was resting in shallow water. 
Strong arms caught them, and in little more than a 
breath they were seated close together, Denise with 
her mother’s arms about her, Hortense and Marie 
Josephine and Cecile huddled together in a tense 
embrace. The schooner waited for them just be¬ 
yond, through the mist. 

There had been no time to say good-by. Marie 
Josephine dashed the tears from her eyes, leaning 
forward. 

“Dian,” she called softly. “Dian, Dian, Dian!” 
Then she took the faded gold flower, which she had 
gathered on the hill road a few hours before, from 
the belt of her dirty smock and threw it toward the 
shore. It fell at Dian’s feet, where he stood with 
Jean and Grigge close beside him. 


351 


Out of the Mist 

“You will come back, all of you, Little Mademoi¬ 
selle,” he said. In his eyes was the light which they 
all knew so well; not even the mist could hide it. 
He stooped and picked up the flower. It was a lily 
of France. 

























































































































































